Reaper and the Black Dogs
by ApostleOfWrath
Summary: As the war with the Dark Queen nears its end, the Goddess Reborn gathers her forces to deliver a decisive blow that will put an end to the Dark Queen's reign of terror. In the midst of gathering her forces, a mysterious stranger is brought to her gates with a dire warning that there is a greater evil lurking in the darkness.
1. Stranger in Black

**Inspired by Wimblegurk challenge after somebody recommended _The Night Unfurls_ to me in my primary account** _._ **This story will certainly have a hard M-rating, with violence and gore and all the grim and darkness that would accompany both sides of this crossover.**

 **Also, this is an alt to my primary account, so any Warhammer fans that recognize the MC, don't cry foul. I am entirely aware that I am using my own character with my own permission.**

 **The concept of this stems from my inability to reconcile Vult's (spelling I will be using) sudden betrayal and how nobody saw it coming. Most stories I have seen from this setting have him as a lewd, crude, hell of a bad dude. But everybody is like "NO, NOT VULT!" That's stupid, and I feel there should be more to it than that. My first goal for this was to figure out a way how to properly have Vult shift from being "Bestie Mercenary" into "Sexist the Rapist." And then, the next step is how on earth does everything spiral so quickly out of control.  
**

 **If only there were some inexplicable corrupting force that the Warhammer universe could bring to the table to explain all of this...**

* * *

 **Marigar, Feoh**

Marigar was a quiet village, tucked in the cleft valley between the northern mountain range that protected Feoh from the frigid wastes and separated it from the lower region of Ur. A few small farms surrounded it, growing subsistence crops as the seasons allowed, toiling in the hard earth at the foot of the mountains. Barely a hundred souls lived in the village proper; ten times that could be found in a good two-day march any direction. It was a quiet, sleepy place.

Though small and relatively unremarkable in production or population, in fact it could only be found on the most detailed maps of Feoh, Marigar possessed the noteworthy establishment of an actual inn, complete with four rooms and a few lofts in the stables for the less discerning passerby. Not many travellers ventured to the north-eastern edge of Feoh, save for miners, adventurers, and patrols of the Holy Iris Chivalric Order out hunting for demon incursions. Most of the year, it served as the communal gathering place, where stories could be told, gossip passed mouths, and Marigar could draw close. The locals called it 'the Alehouse.' The original settlers of Marigar had not thought up a better name, and the family that ran the inn had never bothered to change it. It was simple, memorable. Marigar did not need something fancy like a garish sign and a name on the door. The excitement of the Alehouse came in the form of visitors, not signs.

The rare times a visitor came through, the inn always filled to the brim. Local gossips crowded for information, the aldermen pushed the gossips away then plied for the same news. The young men and women strove to draw the eye of the mysterious travellers. It was all good fun and games for the locals. In a sleepy place like Marigar, any news was noteworthy, and spread like wildfire.

The news rushed so quickly that Jowles found it exceedingly rare that a stranger reach the Alehouse without his foreknowledge. Which made it all the more surprising when the door to the Alehouse opened and an unfamiliar figure stepped inside.

It was a brisk spring night, the sun having fell below the mountains only a little while before, leaving just enough fading light to make torchlight unnecessary yet. A dozen locals occupied most of his inn, sitting around the fireplace or trading stories at the corner tables. His daughter, Melaea, lounged against the bar, batting her lashes furiously at the Groll's eldest son. The two families had entertained the possibility of courtship between the younglings for some time now; it was clear to the whole of Marigar that a wedding was to be had by winter. He just didn't know if we was ready for that yet. It seemed only a harvest ago that Melaea had bounced on his knee and giggled at the silly voices he made.

Service had been slow tonight. It always was, this time of year. Just early enough that the farmers had started planting, but not so early that they were eager to spend their evenings guzzling his ale. Jowles did not mind that so much. They were due for another merchant's visit soon. He had plenty of coin to restock his cellar for the summer. But it never hurt to have a lighter purchase, especially if he might be having to plan a wedding. Even out on the fringe, it could cost quite a bit of coin.

When the door opened, he cast his practiced gaze at the intruder, wondering which of the families would be arriving so late. Once the sun fell, few newcomers came to the Alehouse save the drunks. And most of those were already here.

Instead of a local, however, a foreign man shuffled into his Alehouse. A heavy cloak obscured his appearance, hood pulled low to hide his face. What clothes were visible showed ragged misuse: pants decorated with outer pouches around his thighs and hips; a dark leather jacket that reached his feet. And his shoes! Jowles' eyes narrowed in wonder at the unfamiliar fashion: laces crossing along the length of the foot, continuing on to reach above the ankle, padded with thick soles and metal caps on both the tip and heel. Such strange clothes, he thought to himself.

His chief concern settled on the gleaming sword hanging from the man's hip. Though encased in a gilded scabbard, he could have sworn there was true gold in the symbols and etching lining the piece, the weapon's guard was a polished silver, and a bulky construct on the side seemed so dreadfully out of place. But it was a sword. Swords were rare; moreso ones with such fancy scabbards. This stranger was dangerous, and important. One, or both. But not neither. And that made him uneasy. Strange armed men arriving unannounced never bode well.

"A seat" the man spoke. His voice croaked dully, a harsh edge to it, yet the request was clearly intended without malice. The Alehouse had gone silent, all eyes turned on the man. Melaea looked to Jowles, uncertainty crossing her expression as she asked permission to see to this stranger.

"Where ever your pleasure, sir." Jowles gestured invitingly. He shooed Melaea to the back room, telling her to fetch a bottle of brandy. This one had the look of a man in a bad way. He would need something stronger than their ale.

Obliged, the man sank down into the nearest chair, hardly bothering to push his scabbard to the side. A long, stuttering breath exploded out of the man's mouth, and he leaned forward over the table, one hand on the hilt of his sword without menace, the other resting on the table. The stranger did not even look around at all the inquisitive stares thrown his way. Jowles shot the locals a warning look, but they were preoccupied by this newcomer. The fascination showed on all their faces.

"Drink" his voice croaked, again barely forcing its way free.

Melaea reappeared with the brandy. Jowles snatched the bottle and carefully measured out a proper amount. He would not waste this rare commodity, but some things must be done.

"Are you a brandy man, sir?"

The stranger gave no answer. Hurrying to his table, Jowles set the mug down and took a step back, anxiously eyeing the tension in the man's grip on his blade. It did not appear a threat, if anything he held it to keep the weapon from clacking against the chair. But the people of Marigar were unused to seeing any sort of weapon held so openly. They could not be faulted for that.

Taking the mug, the stranger brought it to his lips and sniffed. The brandy must have agreed with him, because he leaned back to drink-

And promptly spat it back out as a fit of coughing seized him. Startled, Jowles leapt back a step, his hands curling in fright as the man let out a pained gasp, blood and spittle spraying across the table and his brandy. The mug fell to the inn's floor, brandy mixing with the blood of the man as he collapsed onto the table. They all heard the gruff, powerfully uttered curse

"Shit."

And then the stranger slumped motionless in his chair. They all stared in horror, confused by what had just transpired. Jowles' eyes widened as Ara Groll rose from his seat with the alderman and went to inspect the stranger, holding out a hand with the timidity of a child approaching a barking hound.

"Is… is he…" Melaea peered over Jowles' shoulder, keeping her father between herself and the body. "Is he dead?"

"By the Goddess" Ara Groll murmured, seeing something they could not. The elderly farmer placed a careful hand on the stranger's chest and eased him back to a sitting position. Blood coated the man's lips and chin. His eyes were empty and unfocused. Slipping his hand to the man's side, Ara Groll grunted and tugged at something. It came free with a horrid squelching sound that made even Jowles flinch.

Ara Groll dropped the offending object onto the table for all to see. The people of Marigar gasped at the sight. A broken arrow, dyed black, point fashioned in the manner of the demon orcs to the east.

"That's an arrow" Jowles whispered. "Orcs! Are they this close?"

"His wound looks fresh" Ara answered, fear creeping into his voice. "They must be near." The farmer looked to Jowles and the alderman. "If there are orcs in the mountains, we need to send to Feoh. We need soldiers to protect us."

"Yes, of course." The alderman, Hess, leapt out of his chair. "Ishar," he motioned to the eldest Groll child. "Fetch a horse, lad. I'll put my son on it and send him tonight. Jowles, ring the village bell. We need to tell everyone of the danger."

"Don't bother" a gruff voice ordered.

Melaea shrieked as the stranger's body moved. They had all forgotten him in the momentary panic, but the man's eyes had gained color again. The color had returned to his face, and he was… very much not dead anymore. Reaching down to his feet, he picked up the fallen mug and inspected the bottom for any brandy that might have survived. A disappointed grimace slugged across his face, and he placed the mug back on the table.

"You're… but you died" Ara cried out.

"Didn't stick" the man replied, tonelessly. His eyes swept the room before settling on Jowles. The innkeeper flinched under the stranger's full attention. Dark, brooding eyes pierced into him like knife blades, a savageness lurking behind the colorful, serious orbs. "I wasted your brandy. That was rude."

"... you don't need to apologize" Jowles mumbled, his voice sounding far away and muffled. He blinked quickly, forcing himself to look away. The man's gaze set his teeth on edge. It was like staring into the shadows of a mountain cave, knowing full well that all sorts of monsters could wait in the darkness.

"I find myself at a loss here. As for these orcs" the way the man pronounced the word sounded mocking, almost amused, "you needn't fear. It was a small band. They're all dead now."

"Dead? You killed them?"

"That would be the logical assumption" the man agreed. He picked up the broken arrow that had been pulled from his side and inspected it curiously before setting it back down. "Again, I apologize, but might I have another drink? Throat's still a bit sore."

Jowles absently motioned for Melaea to grab the bottle. She set the whole bottle next to the man, nervously dropping the bottle so that it spun and nearly tipped over. The stranger snatched it before it could, and offered her a nod before taking a long swig straight from the bottle. They all watched in awed silence as he drained it to the end; enough brandy in that bottle to feed Jowles for a month, there had been. He could not bring himself to complain. Not when faced with this strange, utterly strange man.

"Did you fight them by yourself" the alderman asked.

"Yes." The stranger wiped his mouth and set the bottle beside the arrow. Mutters of astonishment rose from the onlookers.

"How many were there?"

"Was a bit too busy killing them to ask. And it was too dark for a headcount afterwards. Besides" he indicated the arrow. "Had a few more important things on my mind."

"Well, why did you go after them? Surely you must have known the danger of an orc raiding party"

"I assure you, I have seen far worse than that rabble." The man's chuckle was dangerous and utterly unsettling. There was no humor in it, only malice. "But I did not go looking for them. Trouble has a way of finding me wherever I go."

"And who are you, sir?" Ara blanched as the stranger turned his gaze.

"Reaper." The stranger replied.

"That's a strange name."

"I am rather attached to it."

The Alehouse fell silent, the locals uncertain whether or not that had been intended as a joke. None dared laugh. Jowles glanced to the alderman.

"These orcs" the alderman insisted. "You are sure you killed them all?"

"They are loud" Reaper answered. "I would have heard any that tried to run away. Straight up the mountain, perhaps a few hours' walk, if you want to see for yourself."

"I am certain we can take your word" the alderman admitted. "But, here I am blathering on. You were injured. Surely you should rest. I will fetch the healer for y-"

"Don't bother. I'll be fine. Just need some rest." Reaper fixed Jowles with a hard stare. "Bed available?"

"Upstairs" Jowles said, transfixed by the man's eyes. He could not bring himself to mention payment. The stranger saved him the embarrassment by fishing inside one of his pouches and tossing the innkeeper a glittering coin. Jowles nearly dropped the small thing in astonishment. It was pure gold, with beautifully carved letters and symbols on both sides. He could not even bring himself to test the metal for surety. The artistry of the coin alone made it more valuable than anything he had in his possession.

"My thanks. Will that cover a morning meal as well?"

"Why… yes, sir. It will indeed. Jowles hurriedly tuck the coin away, heat rising in his cheeks at the jealous looks that chased the coin. The innkeeper made a note to kill a chicken for this man in the morning. The coin could have bought him a month's meals, room and board. How could he so casually toss that out? What sort of man was this? He fought orcs, and he had coin aplenty. A noble, then?

The stranger stalked off to the stairs, guided by Melaea's helpful call that no rooms were occupied. Once they heard the door close, the room sprang into action. The alderman hurried out to fetch his son. The message to Feoh still must be sent, but now they had something beside orcs to bring to the attention of Princess Fiorire and her knights.

 **-v-**

 **Capitol, Feoh**

Alicia Arcturus stared at the map, ignoring the dull ache behind her eyes. For a full hour now, she had examined each and every little flag, locations where raiding parties of demons had been spotted in the past year. Thirty. Ordinarily that would have been cause for great alarm, and a mobilization of her knights. Any demon raid required her attention, and a swift response to prevent their savageness from falling on the people of Feoh.

Currently, a squadron of her knights patrolled the southeastern edge of their borders, pursuing the rumors of a warband that had recently spilled out of the Gaijin Pass. No news was good news, in that regard. Had something happened to her sisters-in-arms, she would have known. Thalia was a competent subcommander with years of experience hunting down these raiding bands.

By rights, Alicia should be riding hard to the northern border. Twenty of the thirty flags clustered around the upper reaches of Feoh, most noticeably around the tiny hamlet called Marigar. Those poor people had the misfortune of living close to a handful of passes too small for an army, but large enough for warbands to cross over the mountains. Twenty recorded instances of raiding bands. She could assume that half of those were wild tales, rumors spun out of control. But even if half proved true, the village should be gone. It was far too small to have a standing militia, and with the recent years of peace in Feoh her predecessor had chosen to withdraw the northern garrison of knights to the capitol. They were, simply put, defenseless.

The scouts she had sent to confirm the sightings and gauge whether a proper response was needed had all reported similar findings. The remains of eight individual warbands had been found. The remains. Something was killing them up there. As her scout had put it, 'butchering them like cattle.' The villagers had offered no information, remaining suspiciously tight lipped when asked what might be stopping the demons. For two months now, they dutifully reported the incursions. And for two months, the raiding bands were dead by the time her scouts arrived. Unless a hidden band of mercenaries was operating under her nose in Feoh, she had no idea what was happening.

Perhaps the raiding parties were killing each other, fighting over the rights to pillage, and the victors were too badly bloodied to send off a true raid. It seemed unlikely. One of her more mindful scouts had bought a cart from Marigar and dragged back some of the bodies she had found. Though rancid and decaying by the time she had returned to the capitol, Alicia had studied the corpses with great interest, as had Minister Beasely. The cause of death had been clearest on the little imps. Their spindly bodies decayed much slower than the fat-filled orcs. The specimen her scout had brought back was missing one hand and a good bit of its other arm. The amputations were clean, precise, and burned. So clean that the imp may as well have put his arm on a chopping block for an executioner's axe, then immediately shoved his stump into a furnace to seal the wound. Which was obviously silly, some other weapon had done this. A weapon she could not imagine.

Was it magic, then? Was there some magic-user prowling about Feoh, experimenting with new spells and using these raiding bands as his test subjects. The thought of an unregistered wizard practicing unsanctioned magic set her teeth on edge. That would require immediate and swift action. But she would not lead her knights into a potential battle against a foe she neither knew or understood. They needed more information. And that was proving difficult to acquire.

An exasperated sigh slipped out of her lungs, and she stepped back from the table, fingers rubbing her aching forehead. Why was this puzzle here? Why now? Her silk-lined white gloves stretched out to pick up her sword, a masterfully wrought blade gifted by Luu-Luu herself. Buckling the scabbard back onto her hip, she smoothed the creases it threatened in her blue-and-white dress. The crest of the Arcturus family showed proudly on her skirt and scabbard, a constant reminder of who she represented, who she was. She was the last daughter of Arcturus, the scion of an ancient family renowned for its commanders and warriors. Feoh would not suffer under her watch. Not while she drew breath.

"Alicia, is this where you have been hiding?"

The soft voice of her younger cousin made her tense, caught like a child in the larder. Turning slowly, Alicia forced a smile onto her face, erasing the tension from her expression with practiced ease. Prim stood just inside the main entrance of the strategy room, her hands clasped behind her back, fixing Alicia with her disarming, adorable grin. There was no judgment or condemnation in the younger woman's eyes. Her eyes shone like the waking sun, and her smile could soothe the most heartbroken of souls. A thick mane of velvety pink curls foamed down her back, held back from her face by the golden circlet of Feoh, her only acknowledgement of the royal position she held. Prim Fiorire was not a girl that needed to remind those around her that she ruled Feoh. She cared for her people, and they loved her for it. Her gentle words and fierce loyalty to those that she ruled had made her one of the most well-received rulers in some time, despite her youth.

How fortunate for her, Alicia thought without jealousy. The people loved her for her youth, her beauty, and her kindness. If only commandery of the Knights were so easy. There was no end to the trials she had to undertake, the doubters she had to prove wrong. Her position had been won through sweat and blood, and she would have to defend it until her death. It was a small price to pay, if that allowed her to look after her younger cousin.

"I was studying our scouts' reports" she explained.

"As you have been for the past four days" Prim countered, a giggle forming on her pink lips. Stepping further into the room, Prim looked about with the same sense of wonder she showed every time, admiring the tapestries depicting the history of Feoh; the Fiorire and Arcturus families. Her joy with life was an unflagging wellspring, infectious. Alicia could not keep the warmth from creeping into her forced smile, exchanging it for a genuine one as Prim brushed her hand across an old suit of armor, now standing ceremonially beside one of the windows. "You will worry yourself to death, cousin. Is it Marigar?"

Unsure whether Prim's question had been a mere guess, or a well-informed point, Alicia nodded. It was easy to forget, even for her, that Prim was more than a cute figurehead. Her mind was sharp as a freshly whet blade. Someone would have told her what had occupied so much of Alicia's attentions these past months.

"I would like to take a squadron and investigate these…"

Killings was not the right word. The dead were demons; they did not deserve a term that made them sound like victims. But they were not battles either. The only dead had been orc-kind and the like. Had the people of Marigar suffered, word would have made it back. They were too small a community to suffer loss without notice.

"You know that my permission is hardly required" Prime reminded her, turning with a dancer's grace on her heel. Another trait of hers that had developed naturally. Where Alicia had developed a soldier's grace, stiff and functional, Prim glided about as if stepping on clouds, her movements fairy-like in their lightness and ease. "But that is not why you have delayed, is it?"

"I don't want to lead my knights into a trap" Alicia answered. "We do not know what is out there. It could be an ally, or it could be something far worse than demons."

Her cousin's smile did not falter, but the gleam in her eyes faded, replaced with sensible concern. Joining the knight commander at the table, Prim gazed down at the map, her delicate brows furrowing as the smile eased into a pursed frown.

"Twenty" she breathed, her surprise catching Alicia off-guard. "Are these all confirmed?"

"No, merely the reports. The red ones we have confirmed" Alicia informed her, gesturing to the small boxes of flags beside the map. "Green is as of yet unconfirmed."

"That is new" Prim said, offering a slight sigh of relief. "When did you switch to the coloring scheme?"

"Recently. Before now, it had never mattered. We still treat every report as verified" Alicia hurried to add. "However, with this strangeness near Marigar, it is easier to separate them."

"So these green ones never happened?"

"Or we never found the bodies." Alicia winced at the admission. Normally, such words would accompany the loss of a village. Not the disappearance of an orc band. It was a question she had asked herself many times these past months, had always asked. How many bands had they never discovered? How many people had they lost without her ever knowing?

"You should go" Prim told her. Alicia cocked her eyebrow at her cousin. "If this eats at you so terribly, you should take your knights. If only for your own conscience. I know you are as relieved as I am that the people of Marigar have been spared the horror of these warbands."

"Were it so simple" Alicia muttered. "The people of Marigar know what, or who, is destroying these raiding parties. They won't tell my scouts anything."

"Perhaps a visit from their regent might loosen their tongues?"

"You can't be serious" Alicia started, reflexively stepping towards her cousin. "It is too dangerous!"

Her cousin's smile returned, appreciating Alicia's concern, but clearly not sharing it. "How dangerous can it be if a squadron of Feoh's finest knights are protecting me? You have always kept me safe, cousin. I have faith you will continue to do so. When do we leave?"

"I…" Alicia wanted to argue with Prim. She could not sanction the idea of Prim going out into harm's way. Even with her knights at her side, the thought of an ambush or any possibility of the demons hurting her young cousin made Alicia's stomach twist in knots. She had seen firsthand what those monsters did to women. It was not something she wanted little Prim to ever see. But the determination in her cousin's expression could not be denied. Once Prim had decided something, she stood like a mountain.

Alicia bowed in acknowledgement of her cousin's decision.

It was time to discover what was protecting Marigar from the demons.

 **-v-**

 **Marigar, Feoh**

Jowles poured the Reaper another drink. It was a fine day, bright and sunny with a gentle breeze wafting across the lake. Seeding was in full swing, and many of the farmers had finished early, thanks to the helping hands available now that the stranger had taken to protecting the village. Not having to leave half the men on watch from raiding bands made for productive labor. That alone had earned the man his keep, and after some convincing the village had convinced the stranger to stay for the Seeding. In truth, it had not taken much convincing. The man had a peculiar lack of interest in moving on; he seemed content to stay at the Alehouse, though most days he spent out in the forest, patrolling the mountain's edge. Twelve times now, he had encountered roaming bands of demons and finished them off.

He had never asked for payment. In fact, he insisted on paying for his meals and bed, despite Jowles' protestations. His supply of those strange gold coins did not seem to have diminished after two; at the least Jowles had convinced the man that once a month was payment enough. He would have gladly settled for less; the stranger's contributions to keeping Marigar safe were payment enough for a dozen mens' sustenance. The safety his presence provided was worth more than any amount of gold.

Today they celebrated yet another victory of his over the demons. The stranger returned the night before, dragging a sack filled with orc and imp heads. None had asked, but he always brought proof of the fresh kills. In the man's own words, 'life is filled with liars.' This time, a full-grown ogre head occupied the mouths of the villagers. Orcs were terrifying foes for the ordinary man, but killing an ogre required exceptional skill and luck. Even the Knights of Feoh did not challenge an ogre in single combat. And the stranger had killed it alongside a dozen or more lesser demons.

"Thirsty work, eh?" The innkeeper grinned as the stranger took a slow draw of ale, his eyes closed tightly as he enjoyed the cooled beverage. Two months now, and they still did not know his name. People did not like calling him Reaper, it was a foreboding name. But they could not keep calling him stranger either. So, in typical country fashion, they just did not use a name for him. They knew when his name came up in conversation.

"Their blades don't last long" the man replied, his face still half-hidden by the mug. "Broke four of them."

"Is that so" Jowles asked, not particularly caring one way or the other. The man's eyes had drifted to Reaper's own blade, the beautiful piece that they had yet to see the steel of. As far as they knew, he had never drawn it. Perhaps it was broken, hidden by the scabbard, or a ceremonial blade. The man wore it with ease, as if he was far more used to it than he let on. "Bet you'd like a rest, then."

"There's another band out there" the man countered, as calm and indifferent as if he were reporting the sighting of a red-tailed hawk. "Travelling south. I doubt they'll sweep back up this way, but I'll keep an eye on them."

Their conversation ceased as the door burst inwards, propelled by Isahr Groll and Melaea. Red-faced and sucking greedily for breath, they staggered over to the bar and took seats next to the stranger. His daughter spent a moment tidying the bronze tiara in her hair, shooting a meaningful look at her father to draw him over. With the peace brought on by the stranger's presence, the Grolls had agreed to the betrothal, setting a date for just before the Harvest. The circlet had belonged to his family for generations. It was hardly worth anything, but the intent made it clear, and she wore it with pride every day.

"Riders are coming from the capitol" Melaea wheezed, gratefully accepting a mug of watered-down ale. She knocked it back in a single breath, nearly choking in her haste to put it away. "Armored knights. Isahr's brothers saw them passing their farm. They should be here any minute."

"Knights" Jowles repeated, nervously looking in the stranger's direction. Had they come seeking the mysterious man protecting their village? Scouts had visited time and time again, following the reports they had sent to the capitol of the raiding bands. The stranger had not seemed keen on being made known to them, always disappearing before they arrived, or finding some other place to be. The village honored his desire to remain hidden; if he were a criminal, he was doing nothing to harm them and his protection more than made up for any crimes he may have committed. If a good man, then his reasons were his own and could safely remain so.

This sort of news usually sent the stranger packing for the back door. Unlike the other times, the stranger took this news in silence, inspecting the bottom of his mug with a thoughtful expression. Melaea and the others turned to watch him unreservedly.

"Knights, you say?" He pulled his eyes up and returned their gazes. More than one flinched away under the weight of his intensity.

"Lots of them" Ishar insisted. "My brother says he saw the queen herself riding with them."

"She ain't a queen" Melaea grumbled, slapping her betrothed. "She's a princess. Not old enough to be queen yet."

Ishar rolled his eyes and reached over to wrap her in a hug, pinning her arms to her side. She laughed as he picked her up off her seat and deposited her in his lap. "Point is, someone important is coming. And why'd the princess of Feoh come here if not for you" he asked.

"Does the princess make a habit of visiting her people?"

"Not us outliers" Jowles admitted, sweat rising on his brow at the prospect of a visit from royalty. His Alehouse was hardly presentable, and his best drinks were all buried in the cellar. Excusing himself with an apology, and snapping at Melaea to get behind the bar, he hurried off to find a proper set of drinks. What did princesses even like? He had no idea, and he feared he had nothing to offer.

"I heard the princess is a child" Melaea said petulantly, grabbing a rag from the water bin and wringing it fiercely. "Bet she doesn't even have a proper set of tits. Ain't nothing like a girl raised on hard work."

Her betrothed grinned lecherously, his eyes filled with love for his bride-to-be. It was no small rumor that the two had consummated their marriage early, and more than a few times at that. Once the betrothal had been declared, all bets were off, it seemed.

"Well, if it is her, she's got a whole gang of knights with her to keep her safe." Ishar nodded sagely. "Folks say her cousin runs Feoh's knights. One of them Arcturus people. They've protected Feoh for a long time, longer than most remember. And she's right protective of the princess, so she doesn't let her out this far most of the time. Especially not when there's raiding bands in the hills."

The stranger flipped his mug over and slid it across the bar to Melaea, who caught it deftly and tossed it into the water bin for cleaning later. "This was going to happen eventually" he muttered, and stood. Running a hand through his hair, kept shorter than the local fashion, he collected his jacket and slipped it on. All eyes drew to the mysterious device hanging just under his left shoulder. It was blocky and strange, with a shaped handle almost like a blade's handle. The stranger had yet to explain what it was for. Nor did he seem intent on telling. Sometimes he wore it under his shoulder, other times opposite his hip. It was a mystery, just like so many other things about him.

"Are you going out to see them" Melaea asked, her curiosity bursting out. "Are they here for you?"

"Odds are good they came to see what's killing all the demons. So, yes, they would be here for me." The stranger flashed her a smile that almost seemed cheerful. If only it had not been lined with a hard edge and those terrifying eyes. "Best make a good welcome for them. Does the alderman knew they are coming?"

"My brothers went looking for him and the others" Ishar replied. He busied himself with the ale Melaea dropped in his hands. When he looked back for the stranger, all he found was the closing door to the Alehouse.

 **-v-**

It had been a quiet and uneventful travel to Miragar. Surrounded by twenty of her finest knights, and with Alicia close by her side every step of the journey, Prim had never felt more safe. Twenty and one trained and skilled warriors, each dedicated to protecting her from harm. It was touching, to say the least. The three days of travelling had gone splendidly, in her opinion. The first night they had taken rest in a small hamlet where the people had been happy and eager to greet her. Leaving the castle was something she had little opportunity for anymore. The pressing duties of leadership left her overwhelmed more often than not. This excuse to duck away and travel through the countryside excited her. No Beasely, no courting nobles. Just her, Alicia, and the people. And the knights.

This far out into the borders of Feoh, though, a marked difference could be felt in the people. They were no less joyous and happy, but their guarded nature could not be mistaken. These were the people that worked hard for life, and bore the brunt of the wretched attacks by the demons and the Dark Queen. It saddened her, knowing the pain they suffered was something that she could only hope to ease, unable to take it away from them.

Her cousin had seen this before, many times. Perhaps that was why she was always so serious, so grim. Prim did not like it when the dark moods overtook her cousin. They were still young, and had a lifetime ahead. Letting the bad things of the world in would only bury her in sorrow and doubt. Prim prayed for her cousin every night, that the burden would be lifted from Alicia's shoulders, and that she would rediscover the joys in this world.

The scout rider turned her horse and ambled back to Alicia's side. Clad in leather armor patterned after the plate and chain of the knights, their young scout looked remarkably less dangerous, even with the short bow strapped to her back and the long knife hanging from its scabbard on the saddle.

"That is the village ahead" the scout reported. "You can see the church tower, through those trees. The alehouse is just beside it, and the alderman's home across the way. Pond is to the left. Healer lives there, small shack you'll see on the ride in."

"My thanks" Alicia told the scout, who beamed with pride as Prim favored her with a smile. "Please carry ahead and fetch the alderman."

"As you command, my lady."

Turning her horse about with practiced ease, the scout urged her mount into a gallop, tearing down the road towards the small village. Prim watched her disappear around the bend, then turned to her cousin. It excited her to see her cousin in action. She had no doubts about Alicia's capabilities and her worthiness as the commander of the Holy Iris Chivalric Order, but seeing her in action warmed her heart. Alicia's decisiveness and fierce commands kept her knights on a short leash, even while allowing them to operate at their best. Having Alicia at her side was a great comfort against the thought of an attack.

Not that she expected one. With all this talk of the demon raiding bands disappearing, Prim doubted harm could reach them.

As the lead knights in the column rounded the bend, one half-turned in her saddle and gestured approvingly to them. "The people have come out to greet you, Princess."

"As they should" Alicia muttered. "Tighten up, ladies. We're knights, not mercenaries. Show some pride!"

The knights eased their horses back into a proper column, stiffening their postures and bringing their weapons about in parade form. More than a few stifled grins, shooting knowing looks back and forth at their commander's bark. Alicia slowed her pace, falling a half-length behind Prim, and let one hand fall to her side. They were quite a sight, with winged helms and silver-gilded armor. Each held a lance, with swords strapped to their saddles and shields hanging forward of their knees. In battle, they had a fierce reputation, almost equal to Claudia Levantine's own. Outside of that, they were young and full of life. They formed the perfect bodyguard for Prim: not too serious, but powerful enough should the need arise.

"That would be the alderman" Alicia noted, casting her voice in that way that indicated her target without Prim having to turn and ask. An elderly man stood beside the scout, wringing his hands nervously as the column drew nearer. A battered hat covered his greying hair, and the soft roundness of his belly reminded Prim of her grandfather, a jolly and gentle man before old age had claimed him. The thought dulled her smile, only for a moment.

The villagers had not formed a large crowd; Marigar had too few inhabitants for that. Those that had come stood in a rough half circle, eyeing the column and exchanging words. Children rushed back and forth, finding their friends so they could ogle the armored knights together. The atmosphere was excited.

A lone figure stood apart from the others. Prim's gaze drew inescapably to this dark person, leaning casually against the corner of the village inn, arms crossed and hidden inside a heavy jacket stretching to brush his boots. A long straw of hay worked up and down in front of his face as he chewed idly on it, studying Prim and her knights with predatory intent. Prim sensed no danger or hostility from the man, but when his attention slid onto her, a creeping dread filled her belly. She hastily averted her eyes, heat rising in her cheeks. The man continued to stare. The desire to squirm began to rise inside her, and she did not understand why.

Alicia tore her attention back with the sharply called order for the knights to halt. In near perfect unison, their horses clopped to rest, stamping out the last touches of momentum as the knights reined them in. Slower to respond, Prim allowed her horse to pull ahead, slipping past her bodyguard to approach the alderman. Her cousin followed closely. The comforting clap of the armored horse reassured Prim that all was well.

"Yo… your highness!" The man fell to a knee, signalling the villagers. They all stooped obediently, save the man by the inn. Prim felt his eyes crawling across her face; the heat of his gaze threatened to color her cheeks. Swallowing down the unease that continue to clutch at her, she forced a serene smile and waved to the villagers.

"Please, stand. I am honored to come to Marigar. It is to my shame I have not made time to visit you before now."

Alicia dismounted and took Prim's horse. Accepting her hand, Prim eased from her horse, fighting the discomfort of her aching thighs. It had been far too long since her last extended ride. Her muscles were stiff as boards, and each step took effort to not flinch from the pain.

"It is we who are honored by your visit, princess. May we offer you and your knights refreshment?" The alderman waved towards the village inn. "We are a humble place, but we have ale and food."

"In time" she answered. Inclining her head, she indicated the alderman walk with her. Alicia followed close on her heel, one hand on her sword hilt. An aggressive posture, and not needed, save that Prim spotted the wary direction of her cousin's gaze. True to her duty, Alicia had noted the mysterious man by the inn. And she did not like what she had seen. "Is there a place we may water our horses and rest them?"

"We do not have proper stables" the elderly man admitted, the guilt clear in his voice. "But we will do our best to care for them. Would it be permissible to take the horses to the nearer farmsteads? I am certain between our village and the Groll family farm, we can see them all cared for."

"That would be excellent" Prim told him, drawing a relieved smile from the man. "I am sure you know why we have come now."

The man's relief faded as abruptly as it had arrived. A nervous edge crept into his voice as he glanced furtively away, in the direction of the mystery man. That was all the confirmation Prim needed, but she did not press the issue. That was what they had come for. Now that they knew who it was, they could speak to the man at their will. Time was on their side. It would be improper to trample on these people's lives. For now, she would allow them their hospitality, and trust that no harm would come. These people clearly were loyal, upstanding citizens of Feoh. If the stranger intended harm, he would have skulked in the shadows, not stood so obviously by himself.

At least, that was her plan until Alicia separated from her side and stormed directly over to the man. Her heart seized in her chest for a moment at the breach of decorum, and brief stabbing panic for her cousin's safety locked her voice in her throat. She wanted to call out after her cousin, to stop her, but could not bring herself to speak. The man's eyes had locked on hers, and the darkness in them curdled her blood like spoiled milk. Prim had not known terror before. She did now.

 **-v-**

"Hey, you!" Alicia stalked towards the man, determination driving her steps. Her knights were behind her, not on her heel but drifting over, more curious than on edge. The villagers had pulled back, murmuring unintelligibly, unease draining their cheer away. With every step, she felt the unease growing, and knew that Prim was watching her. It probably mortified her for Alicia to step forwards like this. But she was here to protect her cousin, not to obey her. This man had been eyeing her cousin every since they had rode up. Letting him go unanswered would be inexcusable for her position. This would happen now.

The man glanced over lazily at her approach, a damned hay stalk bobbing with his jaw. The weight of his attention struck her like a hammer blow, and Alicia nearly faltered as the dreadful sense of wrongness engulfed her, pouring from the man like a bursting dam. Her knuckles whitened on the grip of her sword, and she struggled to form words. Eyes black as midnight peered into her very soul, haunting flames dancing in the corners of those pitch-dark orbs.

And then the moment passed. A nervous breath exploded from her lungs, and she was standing in front of him. One hand gripping her sword so fiercely her muscles ached, the other pinning her scabbard in place, readied for a sudden draw. Her hackles rose as a mirthless, wicked gash of a smile spread across the man's face. He plucked the straw from his mouth and tossed it at his feet.

"Made quite an entrance" the man commented, as dry and unimpressed as if she were a scullery maid. "I take it you're the pink one's bodyguard."

"My name is Alicia Arcturus, Knight Commander of the Holy Iris Chivalric Order. You will address me with respect, as you will the Princess."

"Sure." He pushed off the wall and offered a noncommittal shrug. "I was just sticking around to see what the fuss was about anyways."

"The fuss?" She snarled at his insolence. "Your Princess comes to visit and you describe it as a fuss? I should take your head from your shoulders for your disrespect."

"You'd lose" he countered. The certainness of her his words slapped her pride. It took great willpower to not draw her blade.

"You!"

"Alicia."

Prim hurried to her side, placing one hand on her shoulder to calm her. Alicia growled at the man, daring the man to make a move. Some of her knights had come forward, their curiosity soured into readiness, all eyeing the man with hands on their weapons. The villagers had drawn to the far end of the square, clearly unwilling to be near if any violence should erupt.

The reproach in Prim's voice nearly shamed her, but for the man's haughty expression. At her young cousin's approach the man offered a short nod, bending just slightly enough to qualify as an insolent bow. The urge to bring the man to his knees gnawed at her. She hated this man, without needing any other reason.

"Princess" he murmured, reaching up to touch his forehead and gesture, in poor imitation of doffing a nonexistent cap.

"You have done this village a great service" Prim told the man, her voice mellow and soft. Leave it to Prim to be the peacemaker. That was what she did best. Her agitation could be felt though, in the current of her words. Even Prim found herself ill at ease beside this man.

"I'm good at killing things" he stated. The bluntness of the admission rendered her silent for a moment, eyes flickering over to Alicia, perhaps in warning, or seeking assistance with the unruly man.

"May I know your name, sir?"

"Told them to call me Reaper."

"What kind of a name is Reaper" Alicia scoffed.

"The kind of name that describes what a man does" was his answer. "If I worked the fields I'm sure you would call me a farmer."

"So you want us to call you a reaper? Of what?"

"Whatever needs killed" he replied, an unnerving seriousness in his tone. Alicia grit her teeth against the unease building in her chest. Something about the man struck her as dreadfully wrong, even with his attitude and gaze. There was something… unnatural about the man.

"That is a dreary outlook on life, is it not" Prim cut in, her hand squeezing Alicia's shoulder guard to inform her older cousin that enough had been said of the matter. "Reaper, then. You have been killing the demon raiding parties around Miragar by yourself?"

"Yes." His attention returned to Prim. Alicia did not like the man looking at her cousin. She wanted to interpose herself, but she knew Prim would have none of that.

"Oh." The claim certainly left Prim wrongfooted. Alicia knew that her cousin had expected there to be a mercenary band in the hills, perhaps drawing supplies from the village in exchange for battling the demons. One man could not have taken out a band single-handedly. It was impossible. Alicia wanted to say as much, but kept her mouth shut. This was Prim's business now. It would only make her cousin look weak to interfere.

"Jowles is kind enough to give me room for the service. Though I pay him anyways."

"That is very honest of you." Prim forced a smile that even a stranger could tell was strained. "Are you a good man, Reaper?"

By the way the man opened his mouth, hesitated, then shut it, he had choked down a snarky reply. Perhaps that was Prim rubbing off on him. She had a habit of doing that. Her mere presence soothed the worst of tempers.

"No" he replied finally, and his tone left no room for mistake. "No, princess, I am not."


	2. Onward

**So there will be about 4 chapters worth of intro before the main "plot" gets rolling, don't despair. As for those wondering the crossover, it is actually going to be Warhammer 40k. Specifically, one Warhammer 40k character.**

 **Reviewers:  
Lunatic-Modo - Warhammer.  
Abdiel Amaro - Truth. You have no idea how many 'super happy fanfics' I've skimmed through of this kind of stuff though. When I get rec'd over to this, I skimmed ALL OF THEM for ideas. God, my eyes were burning for days.  
solarblaster - The grimdarkness will come. It is going to have a bit of a slow build. I've grown away from writing in-the-thick-of-things story beginnings.  
The Coke-aholic - That is what I was thinking would make the best explanation, yes. I mean, it opens up so many options.  
Captain Titus Invictus - Actually 40k. The dude's got a power sword, after all (subtle hints in chapter 1. Will be much more recognizable in future chapters)**

 **Have fun!**

* * *

 **Road to the Capitol**

The stranger marched sullenly by her side, his cloak pulled close over his face, his thoughts hidden under the heavy cloth. Since leaving Marigar he had spoken exactly five words. She remembered each one.

"No."

"No."

"No."

"No."

"No."

Her hopes to crack the man's fierce defenses had so far yielded no fruit. Even Alicia's biting comments and open hostility had failed to draw a word from the man. And he had refused a horse as well, though to her surprise he kept pace with the horses, refusing to take a rest when they offered. Nearly half a day into the march now, and he showed no signs of flagging or tiredness. Her curiosity continued to grow, despite the sense of danger that emanated from the man.

The entire column felt it. The usual banter and gossip exchanged by Alicia's knights had faded to quiet whispers and short sentences. Horses shied nervously if they drifted to close to the man. Prim could feel the unease seeping into the column with each passed mile. Her cousin's frown likened to stick to her face, should it remain there much longer.

After the confrontation with the man yesterday beside the inn, Prim had taken Alicia and withdrawn inside, choosing to separate her aggressive cousin from this strange Reaper man. Instead she spent some time speaking to the villagers, enjoying the hospitality of her people. It awed her how these people who owned so comparatively little were so generous in with their hosting. They slaughtered a pig for her retinue, which was cooked wonderfully as she made sure to let them know, drew their finest reserves from the cellar, and made every pain to make them welcome. In return, she took time to listen to their stories, their plights, their news. A young couple-to-be were brought before her for a blessing, which she happily offered. The future bride blushed furiously as Prim kissed her forehead and wished her a full and happy life.

At the end of the night, she gathered the courage to seek out Reaper. The man had slunk into the inn at some point in the night; that she had not noticed his entrance spoke much of the man's stealth. It was not a large inn, and her retinue occupied enough of it that any other person stood out. How had he slipped in without her seeing? She still could not reconcile it. His path to the corner table would have taken him within arm's reach.

His previous arrogance had faded somewhat at night. In its place, a quiet moodiness hung close about him, souring her cheer even as she had taken the seat across. Those peculiarly odd eyes of his were lost in the bottom of his mug, and he had hardly acknowledged her arrival. With Alicia paying close attention, Prim prodded the man for speech. They spoke at some length, more her than him, asking questions that he more often than not refused to answer. What she did gather, from his surly replies, was that he was not from Feoh. From where exactly, she did not know.

What he did allow her, was that he was a stranger in a foreign land. He refused to discuss further, save his insistence that the demons he hunted for Marigar were of little note compared to monsters he had hunted in past life. When she asked, he admitted that he did not know how to return to his homeland. Which is what led them to here. In a spurt of impetuous, she had invited the Reaper to come with them to Ken. By her reasoning, Celestine Lucross, the Goddess Incarnate, could help this man. She did not know where the idea came from, or why her instincts were to offer, but she did, and the man unexpectedly accepted.

So now they were off to Ken, despite Alicia's protestations. Five knights remained at Marigar, under the command of Lacria, staging from the Alehouse to keep the border safe. With the rising instances of demon incursions, Reaper had insisted on leaving some sort of presence to protect the villagers. Prim took that as a good sign, that his heart was in the right place, even if he did not look like it was. His voice still put her on edge. His attention still left her mouth dry and her gut churning.

The setting sun cast a red glow across the road, throwing pale shadows from the trees. Her horse's agitation grew, snorting and bucking slightly under her legs. Frowning, Prim leaned down to stroke its neck.

"Smart horse" Reaper muttered, not turning from his march.

Startled by the sudden outburst, Prim gaped at the man. "How so?"

"As I told you when we set off, there's at least one demon raiding party left in these woods. With darkness coming, they'll be more active, more aggressive. It is dangerous to be out."

"We have fifteen knights riding with us" Prim argued, unable to shake the worry that settled on her with his proclamation of doom. "And my cousin is the finest swordswoman in Feoh."

"It would be to their misfortune should a raiding band encounter us" Alicia added, having drawn close enough to join in the exchange.

Alicia's claim did not impress the man. Returning to his silence, he drew his cloak tighter about his body, warding against a sudden gust of wind. Her horse danced to the side, closer to him, and Prim grabbed gamely for purchase.

"Woah" she urged, stroking the horse's neck, forcing herself to lean precariously forward to speak into its ear. "Be still, Cornflower. Be at ease."

The lead knight in the column reared suddenly, her horse whinnying furiously at some unseen cause. Prim's head shot up, eyes widening, horrified as the knight fought to calm her horse, only for a black arrow to sprout from her throat, and half a dozen more slammed into her mount. A gurgled cry was the woman's only sound before she and the horse tumbled to the road.

The cries of alarm were still rising on her knights' lips when Reaper sprang into action. His cloak exploded outwards, thrown high like a cloud, and from under the the cloak his hand swung up to meet her. A squeak exploded out of her lungs as his arm wrapped around her waist and wrenched her backwards, hurling her from her saddle, black arrows whistling terrifyingly close past her face. She tumbled weightlessly, pulled along by his strength, flailing as the column exploded into the clatter of battle and the baying shouts of demons. Her feet touched earth, her momentum halted painfully as Reaper wrenched her upright, his muscular body pressing down on her.

"Stay" his voice growled, breath hot on her ear.

A braying cry erupted like a thunderclap nearby. His weight pulled back, one hand gripping her tightly, and the cry ended abruptly in a sopping, sickly croak. Gasping frantically for breath, Prim tried to make sense of what was happening. Cornflower had bolted from the sudden melee that had swamped the road. Orcs and imps flooded the road, engaging Alicia's knights with savage fury. Pandemonium had washed away any sense of order; even Alicia's barking commands went unheeded as the knights found themselves each outnumbered by three or more demons.

An imp scurried towards her, cackling fiercely with a jagged dagger in its hand. Reaper's arm pressed so tightly across her chest she struggled to breathe, ribs aching from the strength of his grip. Before it could reach her, the world spun, the reddening sky filling her eyes as Reaper put himself between them. A flash of steel flicked out, spearing the imp through the chest. Its leering grin faded to puzzlement, gaping at the foe that had slain it. Prim craned her neck to see it fall, kicked into the mud as Reaper withdrew her rapier, taken from her saddle.

"O… orcs" she shrieked, staring in terror as a hulking beast lumbered towards them, backed by two of its allies. The leader was huge, nearly twice her height, wielding a wicked cleaver as broad as Alicia's thigh. Though smaller, the two beside it carried thick branches sharped over fire, their points sharp enough to skewer a man with their considerable strength behind it.

Pulling her roughly behind, Reaper faced down the three with her small, insignificant rapier.

"Yield" Reaper challenged, his voice filled with horrid malice.

The Orcs jeered, charging forwards without concern.

"Reaper!" She pulled futilely at his arm, trying to free herself from his iron grasp.

Her eyes widened as their shadows fell over her, a scream burst unbidden from her, and she closed her eyes tight, anticipating the cold steel of the orc's cleaver. Then her feet left the ground, pulled into the air as Reaper stepped into their charge. One of the orcs shrieked in agony. Her flailing feet connected with another, pointed slippers catching the startled orc in the eye.

Then she was on the ground again, bent nearly in half at the waist as Reaper's body rolled over her like oil, his arm pulling away only to be replaced by the other, switching hands as smoothly as she might switch hands with a book. Black demon blood splashed the ground by her feet, and her eyes widened as one of the orcs toppled to its knees, groping feebly at its opened throat. The second staggered half-blind, clutching at its bleeding eye socket. Her rapier flickered like fairy-light, moving with breathtaking speed in the man's hand as he parried a monstrous swing by the leader's cleaver and poked a series of weeping holes in the demon's hide.

Roaring in furious pain, the orc reared back and launched a powerful over-handed chop. Reaper whirled them both to the side, releasing her for a bare moment before catching her hand and spinning her like a dance partner, setting her gaze spinning so wildly that nausea crept into her throat. The massive blade slammed into the ground. Before it could pull back, Reaper stomped down on the back of the blade, burying it deeper into the road, and lunged. It was a perfect strike. Her slim, delicate blade lanced upwards and speared the slavering orc under its jutting chin.

The beast dropped without a sound, limp as a rock. Pulling her back into his protective embrace, Reaper turned in a quick, stuttering circle, sweeping the road around them for foes. An imp sprinted past them, gibbering in panic as one of the mounted knights thundered after it. Reaper lashed out, the thin blade tearing the demon's head from its neck in a fountain of blood.

The knight barely registered the kill, turning her horse expertly to dash past them both, adjusting her swing to strike at an orc backpedalling from one of her comrades' furious assault. The orc's thick hide deflected her blow, and the shock of impact dragged the knight from her saddle. She fell with a pained cry to the ground, the orc's stumbling gait stomping down on her shoulder as it launched a wicked swing that smashed the other knight away.

Switching his grip, Reaper hurled the rapier at the orc. The blade penetrated the orc's neck, stunning the beast. As it grasped desperately for the blade, the two knights redoubled their efforts, beating the creature to its knees with savage blows until one finished it with a sword thrust in its howling mouth.

The road grew quiet, save for agonized groans and the clopping of horses. The knights stalked amongst the fallen demons, finishing off those not yet ead with judicious strikes. The trample of fleeing demons faded into the distance, the survivors having abandoned their assault. They clearly had not expected a fight, and the resistance had sent them fleeing for their lives. But the cost had been high, she saw with mounting sorrow. Ten of her knights remained standing, and even some of those bled profusely or nursed wounds.

Her cousin stalked out of the survivors, eyes furious and cold as ice. Black blood drenched her blade, stained her armor. And when that blade came up, swiping the blood free in a wide arc, Prim thought she saw, for a fraction of a moment, a look of such utter hatred in her cousin's eyes that even she grew weak at the sight of it.

The blade came to rest beside her head, hovering a finger's width from Reaper's throat.

"Unhand her," Alicia snarled, "you cur."

Prim gaped at her cousin, not comprehending. Her hands crept up to clutch at the man's arm, surprised to find comfort in his closeness despite how it hurt her ribs. His arms were sturdy as steel rods, his hand… gripping her breast.

She squealed in shock, eyes opening wide as saucers at the realization. To her horror, they were all watching. Every knight gazing at her and Reaper, weapons still drawn and disgust etched into their expressions. Not at her. At the man that held her.

His hand dropped away, and she leapt to her cousin's side, her whole face burning with shame. Certain that her cheeks were red as cherries, she scuttled behind Alicia and hid her face, horrified.

"Your pardon, princess." Reaper held his hand up in show of apology. "I was too busy killing the orcs to notice where my hand was."

"Shut your mouth" Alicia snapped. "I could take your hand for that. You dared grope my cou-"

"Stop that" Reaper shouted suddenly, the force of his command silencing her mid sentence. Alicia recoiled, nostrils flaring. But he was not paying her attention anymore. Striding past the startled knight commander, Reaper hurried to the front of the column.

Prim turned to watch him, clinging protectively to Alicia's back. The rush of heat lingered on her cheeks, in her throat, subsiding into a fuzzy lightheadedness as the shock of battle began to fade. Her skin tingled where the man had touched her, ghostly sensations teasing. Confusion blossomed inside her, her embarrassment warring with the gratefulness she felt for the man who had willingly put himself in harm's way.

What had caught the strange man's attention was readily apparent. Their scout, shot in the opening ambush, still lived. A pair of knights knelt by her side, holding the twitching woman still while one inspected the arrow, still through her throat. They stared up at Reaper, watching him expectantly as he dropped to a knee beside them and shooed their hands from the arrow.

"Pull that out, and she dies." Reaper inspected the wound for a moment, then put one finger on the wounded knights' nose. "You, don't move. Calm down, you're alive. Breathe in. Can you breathe? Blink once for yes. Don't move your head."

Curious, Prim craned her neck to see better, wishing that Alicia would follow him. But her cousin had not moved. One hand reached back to touch Prim comfortingly, pressing against her hip as if to assure herself that Prim still remained at her side. The sternness of Alicia's expression was something dreadfully new to Prim. Was this what her cousin turned into when battle came upon her? Was this what the wars were truly like? Fear and terror and clashing blades. Blood and pain. It sickened her, and she rested her forehead on the cool metal plate of Alicia's armor. Reaper's words carried down the length of the column, reaching her ears in an almost comforting way.

"There, you're still breathing? This arrow looks like it took part of your throat, but nothing vital. This comes out, and you've got a big hole in your throat. Breathing stops, airflow stops. Arrow leaves, you die. Keep it there. You, how far is the village ahead? They have a healer? Magical one? Sure. Take her. It's going to hurt like hell, but you leave that damn arrow in. Thank the Throne it wasn't poisoned, or you'd be shit out of luck. Both of you, go now. Double her up, don't let her ride by herself. Keep her awake, but get her to the damned healer. Go!"

Risking a glance past Alicia's shoulder pauldron, Prim watched the knights leap into action, obeying the man as if he were Alicia. They fetched horses and mounted the wounded knight, still mewling fitfully in distress, tears pouring down her cheeks from the pain. Without bothering for permission, the knights took off down the road.

Alicia made no move to stop them.

Wiping his hand on his trousers, the man turned back to Alicia.

"Maria, Ila." Alicia indicated two of her knights. They stiffened at her call. "Bind him."

"What?" Prim made a face. "Alicia, you can't!"

"That man dared to fondle you" Alicia snarled. "I put up with his insolence at your request, but this is too much. If you still wish to take him to Ken, it will be in chains. I am not letting that beast walk free."

"He saved my life" Prim argued, pulling Alicia around. Past her cousin, the two knights approach the man warily, swords drawn. Reaper gave no indication he recognized them. Ignoring the two knights, he calmly strode over retrieve Prim's rapier from the fallen orc. A sharp whistle split his lips, and Cornflower came trotting out of the trees. "He killed three orcs, Alicia. And some imps. All while keeping me protected."

"He laid hands on you, Prim." Alicia showed her disbelief. "Why do you defend him? What do you know about him, other than he is a creep? Why?"

"Because I…" she hesitated, unsure of what to say. Did she know why? Nothing came to mind. The man was insolent, that was true. And he was rude, terrifying, and in his own words, not a good man. But it felt right. He… something deep in her heart told her the man deserved a chance. That he would do something for them. That, just maybe, he was part of something far larger than she could imagine.

Her answer delayed even further when the man turned to shove her rapier, hilt first, into Maria's path. The knight flinched back, fear clouding her face. Some of them had seen him fight, in the chaos of the ambush. Or they knew his kind well enough to understand the battle he could deliver. If Alicia wanted him in chains, she would need her whole squadron to do it. And Prim had seen enough blood shed.

Three knights lay dead, another most likely would not see the morning. The stomping orc had broken her ribs, and each hacking breath brought blood bubbling to her lips. Grief gripped Prim in a tight-fisted embrace as the dying knight was eased back to the ground, two others remaining by her side, helpless to aid their sister in arms.

She would die because of Prim. Prim had told Alicia to go to Marigar. Prim had insisted on coming along. Four, perhaps five of Feoh's finest knights had fallen to protect her.

Her embarrassment at Reaper's hand could not compare to the guilt of their deaths. Tears welled in her eyes as the knight convulsed a final time, then went still.

"Enough!"

She hardy registered her own shout. The world felt as if the sky were falling around her.

"Enough blood! Enough killing." Her tearstained face turned accusingly at Alicia. "He saved my life. Can't that be the end of it? Hasn't there been enough fighting today?"

Her cousin stood silent, sword lowering. The hardness of her expression cracked, and Alicia wrapped Prim in a careful, sisterly hug. Prim gripped her tightly, burying her face in her cousin's sleeve.

"I am sorry" Alicia whispered, too softly for others to hear. "I am so sorry, Prim."

 **-v-**

 **Ulthan, Feoh**

 _Prim woke suddenly, her heart hammering in her chest. Confusion gripped at her, icy fingers clawing at her limbs. Shadows danced around her bed, pooling in terrible shapes, silently mocking and screeching at her as she desperately dragged the sheets to her chest. They slipped from her grasp, torn into the darkness, and she let out a terrified mewl as the shadows rose, towering over her. Consuming her room in darkness._

 _The man called Reaper stepped out of the darkness. His face was handsome, tightened in a frown, dark eyes inviting. Prim gaped at him, clutching her knees to her chest as he sat down on the edge of her bed. Unable to pull away, she whimpered as one hand rose to stroke her cheek. His touch was soft, gentle, but inescapable._

" _They are coming for you" a voice said, coming from his mouth, but not his own._

 _Reaper leaned forward, looming over her, blotting out the remaining light until all she could see was his face. His lips pressed roughly against hers, and she trembled as a host of hands snatched at her, dragging her to the bed, pinning her helplessly in his grasp. She tried to scream, but all that came out was a soft, whimpering sob._

"Prim!"

She started awake, flailing as a firm hand gripped her shoulder. Something covered her face, suffocating her. The hand shook her roughly. Blinding light struck her in the face. A half-formed cry rose on her lips, and she tumbled from the bed, slamming onto the wooden floor.

"Prim! Wake up!"

Something ripped at the covering over her face. The sheet pulled away, and Prim found herself staring at the wooden floor boards of the tavern's guest room.

"Goddess preserve you" Alicia gasped, falling heavily to her side, wrapping the cowering princess in a protective hug. "Prim, you were having a nightmare."

Her heart began to slow from its deafening thunder beat, sense trickling back to her mind. They had stopped at Ulthan for the night, taking the tavern's best rooms. The wounded had gone off to the town's healers, leaving Alicia and Prim to share the largest room while the others took turns on watch. Reaper, she did not even know where he had gone. The urge to reach up and touch her lips bit at her fingers, and she hastily tucked her hands on her lap. Only to feel the roaring heat come flushing through her body when she found her thighs damp and…

Goddess, she had wet the bed.

Tangled in sheets, her hair wild in disarray, the princess of Feoh let out a ragged breath and surrendered to her cousin's embrace, eyes wide and fearful as she caught her reflexion in the room's lone mirror. She could still feel the ghostly sensation on her lips. It made her want to vomit.

"Prim" Alicia cooed, full of concern.

"I… I am fine" Prim lied. Easing her way free of Alicia's grip, Prim staggered to her feet and looked about the room. She had torn the bed to pieces, figuratively speaking. The sheets were all twisted, ripped in some places. Her pillow had suffered quite a beating. It was as if a wild animal had roughed up the bed. Pulling her dress back onto her shoulder, she blinked several times and eyed her cousin. "Water?"

Her older cousin offered a weak smile that told Prim she was still worried, but fetched the far and proffered it. Prim took it gingerly, sniffing at the somewhat stale, lukewarm offering. Wine was what she needed, to strengthen her nerves. But water would do just fine for now.

When Alicia did not press the issue, Prim decided that it could be let alone. The sun was just rising, but they had a long journey ahead of them. Slipping out of her nightgown, she went to the tub and slipped in, bracing against the chilled temperature of the bath, and set about scrubbing any sign of her humiliation away. A strange sensitivity ached between her legs. It was not painful, but it was… different. Odd. Too ashamed to ask her cousin, she forced the thought aside and performed her morning ablutions in silence. All the while, Alicia waited patiently for her to speak. Even when Prim had made it clear she had nothing to say. Once her bath had finished, Prim donned her riding clothes, and accepted Alicia's escort to breakfast.

Reaper sat in the center of the tavern, four of her knights sharing his table. The man did not appear in the best of moods, despite the good-natured conversation carried on between the women. The serving girl deposited a full plate of barley beer at the table in passing, and one of the knights eagerly pushed one over to Reaper, but the man ignored it.

His eyes snapped up to greet Prim, and Prim's legs went weak as jelly.

"Are you sure you are well" Alicia pressed, bracing the princess by the elbow. "We can delay here a day or more if needs be."

"No" Prim insisted. Freeing herself of Alicia's touch, she held her head high and walked into the tavern proper, fighting to ignore the shudders that threatened her every step as Reaper's gaze tracked her approach. The man showed no indication he knew what her nightmare had been. How could he? There was a glimmer in his eyes though, a certain brightness that had not been there before. She hoped it meant good.

"Princess" the knights greeted, rising as one to bow to their monarch. The whole tavern went silent, those that had not noticed her before or heard the rumors of her stay scrambling to kneel before her. Prim glanced over them all and allowed a smile, nodding her head in thanks, then gesturing for them to resume their meal. She took a seat directly opposite the dour stranger, pointedly not returning his gaze. Alicia excused herself to fetch food.

"How are your sisters" she asked Maria.

The knight's grin crumbled, but she swallowed and inclined her head towards Reaper. "We reckon that one saved Yrissa's life. The moment they took that arrow out, it was a close thing. But the healers were ready, and good at their job. She might not speak again, but she'll live."

"My thanks" Prim said, forcing herself to stare down the man's unsettling gaze.

Reaper shrugged, and busied himself with the beer.

"The others will take at least a day to recuperate. The healers are pretty fierce here" Ila added. "We have five that can continue with you, your grace."

She considered Alicia's words, that they could wait a day or more. The haunting memory of her nightmare taunted her thoughts. She did not want to have that again, and she had a sinking feeling it might. Now, more than before, she wished to visit the Goddess. If she could speak with Celestine, the Goddess could clear her mind, ease her troubles.

"I think we will press on. They are in good hands. Please, when you are finished here, inform the wounded that they are released from duty pending full recovery. I want them healthy." She ran a hand through her hair, straightening a tangle she had missed. "The rest of the way to Ken should be clear. You will be well enough of a guard."

The knights grinned at her commendation. Prim locked eyes with each of them, addressing each by name, reminding herself that these brave women were willing to, and some had, sacrifice their lives for her security. Would that such a thing were unnecessary. The rumors from the Council of Seven Shields was that Celestine had a plan in motion. A plan that might finally end the war with Olga Discordia, the Dark Queen of the North.

She wondered if, perhaps, Celestine could find use of Reaper in such a task.

The party mounted their horses before the sun cleared the trees. This time, Reaper accepted a mount. He climbed it expertly, taking little time to settle in and adjust the saddle to his comfort. The ease with which he adapted to riding told Prim that he was no stranger to horses. Her list of questions regarding the man continued to grow. Now she asked herself it those questions were worth pursuing.

It took them five days to reach the capitol of Ken. During the ride, Reaper reverted to his quiet, untalkative self. He spoke rarely, and then only in answer to direct questions he deemed worth acknowledging. Most nights, they stopped in a town. Once crossing Feoh's border, the people were no less generous. All of the Seven Shields were famous throughout the kingdoms, and Prim's reputation was quite legendary, or so she had been told. One of the nights, they camped by a river. Sleeping on the soft loam brought back pleasant memories of her youth, before the weight of rulership was laid at her feet. Back when she and Alicia had little more to fear than a scuffed knee and a scolding from their parents.

She missed those days, though she could never confide that to anyone but her cousin.

The dream did not return. Her sleep was restful, invigorating. The strange nightmare must have been a product of her horror after the ambush. That was what she told herself. It worked, except when she caught Reaper's odd stare, and the cold fear welled inside her.

Time after time, she replayed the battle in her mind, what little she could remember and piece together. The man's movements put dancers to shame. They were graceful, if violent, and so sure of purpose. Not once did he misstep, or fumble. With his arm locked tight around her, she had been as safe as behind a stone wall. That security felt so utterly at odds with how he made her feel at every other moment. At a distance, he unnerved her, scared her. But when he was close, he was shield she could not have felt safer behind.

The man was an enigma, and one she wished had not fallen in her lap.

Troubled as she was, the sight of the White Citadel eased the dark cloud from her mind. Its soaring white spires greeted them at a far distance, welcoming them to the home of Celestine Lucross. Her doubts melted at the prospect of meeting with the Goddess. The high elf was a wonderful, intelligent woman, gifted not only in sorcery, but soothing troubled minds. She would have words of comfort for Prim, and hopefully an idea of what to do next.

The gate was open, as it always was at Ken. Protected by uncounted wards and manned by finely trained soldiers loyal to Celestine, the capitol had no fear of attack. An army could come pouring out of the trees without warning, only to be repelled by sheer magic force. Such was the Goddess' power. Those seeking her harm could not enter Ken.

Greetings were called out by the guards at their approach. Prim needed no banner to announce her presence. Her hair alone, unique throughout the kingdoms, was sign enough for any seeking her identity. A guard swiftly mounted a horse and raced into the city, hurrying to give news of their arrival to the Goddess. There was sure to be a welcoming party waiting for them at the foot of the White Citadel. The flag of Levantine waved just beside Celestine's own, announcing the presence of another one of the Shields. As they passed under the gatehouse, she saw two guards pulling her and Alicia's flags to set with the others. The news of their arrival would spread like wildfire before nightfall. No doubt they would be beset by dignitaries and officials by dinner.

Reaper held his silence, eyes travelling restlessly across the white-painted buildings and cobbled roads, drinking in the city without showing an ounce of reaction. She kept an eye on him, watching from the corner of her vision. His vacant expression remained unchanged through it all. Quietly, she wondered if his stoic act was true, or merely a facade her wore. It was hard to believe that the sight of the White Citadel and its people could not even draw a smile or raised eyebrow. If the man truly was unimpressed, then his life must have been filled with wonders she could not imagine.

The entourage of three that greeted them at the steps of the White Citadel brought a smile to Prim's lips. Celestine herself stood at the raised dais of the stairs, regal as the sun in her soft white robes, her platinum hair held back by a simple wreath of rose leaves. The warm, inviting smile on her lips seeped into her heart like a balm. Standing at her right, the tall, armored figure of Claudia Levantine stood silent vigil, her expression stern, but as welcoming in the noblewoman's own way. The commander of the Dawn Templars, the finest knights in Eostia, had always been a close friend, a staunch ally in her learning how to lead. Though not a ruler herself, Claudia's keen wit and intelligence served her well. Prim often thought of her as a surrogate mother, always to be counted on when she needed a shoulder to lean on, or advice.

The last member of the three, as recognizable as the others, stood to the side, arms crossed over his brawny chest, eyeing their approach with his own handsome, twinkling smile. Vult the mercenary, commander of the legion known as the Black Dogs, was the most powerful man in Eostia, rivalling even the Archbishop. The difference was that the Archbishop's power was faith, Vult's was war. Under Vult's command, the mercenaries fighting the Dark Queen's demon legion had organized, becoming more powerful than any one battalion of the Shields, and if the rumors were to be true, all of them. Nevertheless, he was a kind man despite his life of war and combat. So very different from Reaper; the comparison rose unbidden in her mind. She liked Vult. He was always so polite, cheerful.

Reining their horses to a stop before the three, Prim waited for Alicia to dismount and assier her. It was something she could do herself, but much insistence from her cousin had convinced her that it was only right and proper for her to be waited on. Part of being a princess, or so Alicia had told her.

To her surprise, when Reaper dismounted, he took her horse by the reins and offered his hand. Prim accepted the offer stiffly, flinching away from his gaze. Her whole body went rigid as his hands took her by the waist, easing her from the saddle. With his closeness came the dizzying lightheadedness she dreaded. The terrible nervousness of her nightmare creeping back into her mind, but also to sturdiness of his hold and that he would not let her be harmed.

She was glad when he let go, and quickly stepped forwards to greet the Goddess, willing the queasiness to leave her be.

"Celestine, Claudia, Vult." She bowed to the first, and tipped her head to the others. The Celestine took Prim's hands and held them for a moment, letting the young princess bathe in her radiant smile.

"Prim, it is so good to see you. We were not expecting you."

"This was rather unplanned" Prim admitted, easing one hand free to gesture to Alicia, who mounted the steps two at a time, hurrying to her cousin's side. The knight bowed formally to Celestine before exchanging nods with the others. Claudia's mouth quirked in a smile at her protege. She had trained Alicia from youth on how to wield a sword and how to lead her knights. The two were quite close. "It is a long story, and one I would love to regale you with."

"Yes, let us retire to a more comfortable setting. I am sure you are hungry and thirsty after your journey." The high elf lifted a hand. Attendants appeared as if drawn from the walls, approaching the horses and knights. "Your horses will be stabled with ours, and your knights may find room in the barracks."

"You are generous as always" Alicia thanked. Her cousin's face grew grave, and she turned to gesture with an armored glove towards Reaper, standing motionless at the foot of the stairs. "This man is why we have come. He is a… well, you will see for yourself."

They all watched the stranger, who stood fearless before their attentions. Vult, Prim noticed, cast a studious examination across the man, the grin fading to quiet contemplation. From her experience with Vult, the man would be sizing him up, judging if he were a worthy warrior. Prim doubted the mercenary leader would find himself disappointed.

Silence settled on them for a long minute, far longer than it should have. Prim glanced curiously at the Goddess, expecting a word. The beautiful high elf's face was pale, whiter than even her paper-white tone, and her mouth hung slightly parted, eyes widened as if she were looking at something far unrelated to the strange man at the base of the steps.

"Celestine?"

"Wh…" Celestine blinked furiously, a subdued gasp freeing her speech. "I apologize, I do not know what came over me. Please, let us continue inside. Alicia, please fetch this man along. What is his name?"

"He calls himself Reaper, your grace." Alicia barked the command, and Reaper started up the stairs.

"Reaper, you say?" Vult sniffed dismissively. "That's a strange name."

"He is a _strange man_ " Prim replied.

"Looks like it." Vult's eyes strolled back to Prim, and he offered a reassuring chuckle. "You're looking fine as ever, Princess. It does a wretched mercenary like myself good to see what beauty we're fighting for."

She blushed, enjoying his handsome smile far more than was proper. Now Vult was a man she did not mind watching her. He made her feel special, in his own way. It was good to see him again. Perhaps he could help take her mind off of Reaper for a while.


	3. What is a Reaper?

**Author's Notes: So I can't guarantee I will be able to keep updating this quickly. This is honestly a sidepiece I have started working on while my primary focus is still on my other account. That being said, I had a few days off in a row from work and pumped out the first 50,000 words fairly quickly, so we got a bit of a headstart here. Figured I would share the love.**

 **Reviewers-**  
 **Abdiel Amaro- Yeah, I mean once the 2000s hit they really started pushing Slaanesh out of the lore. It's basically nonexistent in Sigmar (Horned Rat FTW), and the 40k stuff is pretty meh. Which, of course happened as I started building a Slaanesh Daemon army to run stupid amounts of chariots and angry chika's for lulz.**  
 **LunaticModo- The primary baddie is going to be Slaanesh, for sure. Can't guarantee other entities from the other Gods. This is essentially a "hey, look what I found" situation, and the baddie ain't going to be keen on sharing it.  
Imperial warlord- Glad you like the premise so far  
solarblaster- I'm buffing up their armor and clothes a bit, which will be written in as the story progresses. For the armor at least. I mean, the whole bikini armor is hilarious, but really? I try to write more realism into settings (obviously this one is still going to be fairly fantastical) so the armored people are going to be wearing actual armor.  
Eoftar- Oh god, that voice gives me nightmares. Nah, he's more of a bass or baritone than that screeching nasally terrorfiend.  
SomeGuyOverHere- Well, I had to post the epilogue in his story before I could do any true reveals. So... yes. As for the setting, it will be fairly unchanged, except for a bit less stupidity from the good gals and a bit more realism for the war. Also, real armor will be used. Claudia is basically a Reinhart in my mind (in armor, that is. Outside of it, she's a total babe). Because there isn't really any 'realistic' way I could excuse the abhorrent lack of protection. Even Conscripts wear more armor than she did/does. And don't worry, the power sword will come out in all its glory. Prim is basically loli in the story, so I figured I'd make her a bit less jailbaity, but still young. The Demon vs Daemon vs monster is going to be cleared up a bit in this chapter (demon vs daemon is always important distinction). As for the exactness of the plot, I can't confirm that because I am still deciding how much alcohol I need to pound down before I take the plunge and crawl through an H-game to see what the hell actually goes on in it (detail-wise).  
SociopathicAntichrist- Oh, he ain't that stereotypical. He's technically not anything Inquisition (anymore. once you get his name, google it. There's a big ol' story of OC floating in the Fanfic section)  
DreamWeaverGod- As I mentioned in the other chapter. It just doesn't make sense that he was always a swine but suddenly people don't believe it. If you find my other stories, under a different penname, you'll see I like to write tragic characters and emotional gut punches.  
Shaneman17- Nah, Eldar don't come that curvy. She's truly a high-elf-reborn-goddess-thing. And she is still just as weirdly-naive as she is in the original.  
ThatOneGuyUpstairs- He's _kinda_ like that, but different. I get where you're going with the reverse-crossover back into the 40k universe, but this one is going to be purely in the Kuroinu setting. I don't really like large-scale crossovers. I have found perhaps 2 in my years of perusing Fanfiction that I have ever found remotely interesting or believable. This story is going to be grimdark, but it isn't going to be cringedark. There will be plenty of light and good in it, but I'm basically going to be writing about Slaanesh corrupting a virgin world (pun intended), so expect all kinds of awful travails for our intrepid heroes.**

 **Have fun with the read!**

* * *

 **The White Citadel, Ken**

True to her form, Celestine was a generous host. The arrival of Prim and Alicia delighted her. The war with Olga had Celestine stretched thin, which she could only admit to her Shields in private. The strain of using her powers to constantly scry for the Dark Queen's legion took a terrible toll on her stamina, so that travelling outside of the White Citadel had become more of a burden than she could often bear. To her shame, she had not left its white walls in more than a year, and then only to visit Claudia in the neighboring fortress.

It was good to see the princess and protector of Feoh again. The close bond between Prim and Alicia had always encouraged the Goddess, a constant reminder of the good things they fought to protect. Remaining within her walls made it far too easy to consider neglecting the plight of her people, in any of the regions of Eostia. And that was something she could not allow.

Now, sitting at the far end of the table, dining on fine food and heartening wine, Prim was troubled. It had taken less than an instant for Celestine to notice. The girl's perpetual smile was strained, sometimes fading, and a haunted look rimmed her eyes. Something had spooked her, and Celestine was determined to fix that. Taking another sip of wine, Celestine let her eyes drift along the line of faces until she found, without question, the source of Prim's discomfort.

Reaper.

The name sent a flutter of unease through her chest, quickening her breath. At the moment, his head was down, invested in a thick leg of turkey. She was grateful for that. When the man's eyes had met hers outside, she had seen the most terrible darkness pouring from his soul. A deep, unlimited rage, a howling beast screaming an eternal death cry that had shaken her to her core. Reaper was a man, she knew that, but there was a power inside him that terrified her. Even her, the Goddess Incarnate. He was a thing of darkness and… not evil, but a warden of evil. A jailor, that was the term she thought best suited for the man. He held some secret deep within his soul, and it would spell the end for them all should that secret break free.

She did not know where Prim and Alicia had found the man, but she dearly wished they had not brought him here. Even though she knew it was her duty to assist them in this matter. It was her duty as Goddess to handle all the burdens of her people. No matter how much they weighed on her.

Muted conversation flowed like a rippling brook across the diners. Alicia spoke with Claudia regarding the status of the borders, discussing the placement of their patrols and rise of raiding bands. It was Claudia's humble opinion that the increase in raiding bands signified a fracturing of the Dark Queen's legion. The demons were nearly impossible to control at the best of times. Celestine had informed the Knight Levantine of her vision, of Olga's slipping power and the possibility of the war's end. The others had not been made aware yet. But, that was why the others were coming.

In fact, she had expected Prim and Alicia's arrival, just not for several days. No doubt her messenger would be tearing his hair out in frustration, wondering where they were as he had ridden all the way to Feoh to summon them to her council. The others would be arriving within the next few days. The whisper had already reached her that Kaguya was a day's ride out, with a stately procession in tow. No word from Maia, but the Queen of Mercenaries could always be trusted to arrive when Celestine needed her.

Vult, she knew, had his suspicions. The man was as shrewd a commander as she had ever known, and her call for the Shields to assemble was a clear sign that something was in the works. And Vult was well used to being at the forefront of military operations. His Black Dogs had proven themselves time and time again against the demons.

That same mercenary general who had hacked his way from battlefield to battlefield, soaking in the blood of hundreds of slain enemies, now joked amiably with little Prim, bringing her musical notes of laughter forth with the same ease he wielded his massive sword. From time to time the man flashed a knowing smile at Celestine, his cheeky grin and teasing wink never far behind.

The man was quite the flirt, she had learned early on in his career. But he meant nothing by it, save to draw a smile and a laugh. So she did not mind gracing him with a serene curve of her perfect lips. It was easy to forget he was a hardened killer; he hid that side well when matters of military concern were not at hand.

So unlike this stranger sitting at her table, she mused distractedly, letting her gaze slide onto the man again. A pensive sigh built in her lungs, and she eased it breathlessly past her smile, keeping it silent and unnoticed. The question had not been asked yet, but she knew it would come. Prim and Alicia had brought this man to her to be rid of him. Celestine did not know what to do with him either, yet. Perhaps in time, she might find a place for him, where he could best… serve? Was that what they expected? Celestine could not imagine needing a man like him in her personal service.

"So Prim tells me you're a fighter."

Vult's announcement cut across the conversations and silenced them all. The mercenary general had one arm on the table, leaning slightly forward. It was plain to them all that he had imbibed a fair share of wine this night.

The man called Reaper set the remains of the turkey leg down, picked clean to the bones, and wiped his hands on his cloth napkin. Turning to the mercenary, Reaper shrugged carelessly.

"That's a word for it."

"Why call yourself Reaper?"

"Why call yourself a mercenary?"

The unexpected reply caught Vult off guard. He cast his gaze about the room, as if seeking someone to tell him the question was a joke. When it became apparent to the drunk mercenary that it was not, he laughed loudly and slapped the table.

"Ha! I like you already. So you reap for a living. Is that what you're saying?"

The stranger tipped his head, and picked up his glass. Draining the rest of the amber wine in one gulp, he set it back and fixed Vult with an exasperated frown.

"I wasn't saying anything. You asked the question."

"Hm, so you don't like giving a straight answer either."

"Correct." Reaper glanced at his plate as if contemplating taking more food. "Did you have a real question?"

Vult reached out his hand and patted Prim's slim shoulder. The princess' cheeks colored at his touch, a coy grin spreading for a moment across her lips, only for it to vanish a moment later when the man spoke.

"You killed a bunch of orcs when your column got attacked. Heard you killed one by throwing her rapier at it."

"The knights killed that one. I merely wounded it."

"And you've been taking out whole raiding bands in the forests by yourself." Vult grinned, as if that accomplishment were a challenge he were not considering.

Claudia Levantine arched a delicate eyebrow, eyes darting to her protege for confirmation. That bit of news had the older knight's interest, and she shot Celestine a meaningful look. One that gave Celestine a sudden flare of inspiration. Before she could voice it, Reaper spoke again.

"Killing these orcs and imps is hardly noteworthy. They're pitiful fighters, especially for a man as accomplished as yourself." His compliment settled well with Vult, who chuckled and returned his hand to the table.

"I can't tell if you're too humble or too full of yourself, Reaper. What are your plans for the future? You looking for work?"

Celestine's breath caught in her throat as the man called Reaper blinked slowly, digesting the question and no doubt the invitation behind it. It was the exact thing she would have asked next, when the right moment arose. It was an imperfect solution, but it would work for now. If this man had the skill that Prim and Alicia clearly thought him to have, his addition to the Black Dogs would bring her vision that much closer to fruition.

"I don't fight for money" he refused, flat with disinterest.

"Oh?" Vult stared at the man, mind clearly struggling through the fog of his drink to process the refusal.

"Reaper" Celestine interjected, stealing their attention back lest Vult take offense or let his fog speak for him. "You told Prim that you are a foreigner here, is that correct?"

"It is."

She braced against the horror of his gaze, and found relief when the man avoided her eyes, meekly inspecting the table again. "And I seek a way home."

"We should speak of that, after dinner."

 **-v-**

The breeze would have chilled an ordinary man. He stood on the balcony, letting the cold air tickle his face, cooling the heat in his veins from the wine they had drunk at dinner. It was a sweet wine he had not seen the like of before, and its earthy, natural flavor had tempted him into drinking more than he should have. At first opportunity, he had excused himself to let his system process the alcohol in his blood, lest he let it speak for him.

The land, this place, it was so very different than what he knew. The humans were feral, but noble and good. And the elves. He had only met one now, but on the ride through the city he had seen others at a distance So very familiar, yet utterly alien. They were nothing like the haughty, prideful Eldar of his past. These seemed hardly different from the humans.

It was the quiet he enjoyed the most. There were no machines constantly toiling the background, no crowds, just silence. When he looked up at the sky, he saw stars. Deep in the heart of this city, he saw stars. The last time he had seen stars within a walled city was… never. Only in the wilderness. But here they were everywhere. It was such a peaceful, happy place. So unlike his true home.

Moments like this made him wonder if he truly wanted to return.

The whisper of fabric alerted him to the approach of another. This 'goddess' of theirs, one of the exotic 'high elves,' slipping out onto the balcony to speak with him. Not for the first time, he wondered at how pure a place this was. So clean of thought and mind that their ruler walked in the presence of strangers in such… so little. It was not a sensual dress in intent, he had gathered from her nature. Celestine Lucross was no siren that bent men around her finger, twisting their desires to her whim. She acted like a mother among wild children. She spoke as a soft-hearted leader. There was only purity in her intentions.

It felt so unforgivably wrong to stand in her presence.

Bare feet padded over the cooled stones, her thin, dangerously soft dress threatened to blow away at the slightest gust. He resisted the urge to turn and look, to devour the luscious sight of her body, naively presented for his pleasure. But his knuckles tightened on the rail, and he let out a loud exhale to indicate he heard the approach.

"Cold night" he mused.

"The winds are constant this high above the plains" the high elf answered, taking her place beside him. Her lily-white shoulder stood teasingly just in his peripheral vision. The shimmer of her blonde hair glowed in the moonlight. "I find it refreshing late at night."

"You could catch a cold" he chided, more for the simple sake of speaking.

"That is kind of you to care." She turned her head and offered a brilliant, dazzling smile. His jaw clenched for the effort of not turning. "Do I unsettle you, sir?"

"No."

Her head leaned to the side, further into his vision. A disbelieving raise of her eyebrow was all the confirmation he needed that his blatant lie had been discovered.

"Your body tensed at my approach."

"Yes, it did." He looked the other way, studying one of the spires of the White Citadel. It was a simple construction, compared to what he knew. Simple, but elegant. Just like the people here. "You asked about my… situation."

"I did." She accepted his change of topic with grace. "When you say you are a foreigner, you did not refer to this continent, did you?"

"No." This time, he regarded her with his restless stare. The high elf's breath caught, and her lips slipped apart in wonder as she struggled to form words. "You are different. You can tell."

"I can" she managed to say after several seconds. "Though I do not understand."

"I would not expect that you could." He released her from his gaze, and looked out over the city. "What do you think it is?"

"I do not know" she admitted, unashamed of her ignorance. A shiver rippled across her voluptuous frame, and not from the cold. Without needing her consent, Louk slipped his jacket off and draped it over her shoulders. The goddess hesitated, then clutched his skin-warmed jacket tight.

"Daemon." he answered.

"What?" Her eyes widened in surprise, struggling to comprehend the declaration.

"Not the kind you know. You look at these orcs and imps and call them demons because you see them as vessels of evil. But they are a pale shadow compared to the darkness of my home. The Orks of my home would find insult in being compared to the slobbering beasts you call the same. And for demons, well, your demons can be killed. I come from a place where _daemons_ are eternal, immortal. They are the very essence of evil, not some concept attributed to mortal depravities."

"Are you possessed?" She took a step away, her fear rising noticeably. It smelled… delicious.

"No" he answered, though she hardly seemed relieved by his delivery. "Not how you would describe it. The daemon inside me is dead. An immortal being, slain by a ritual of such power and intricacy it could not be repeated in ten million years of trial. The immortal does not die easily, you see. Nor does it perish without leaving a mark of passage. The details are beyond your comprehension, but yes, I have a daemon inside me. I carry its death throes for eternity, until universe collapses and all things are drawn back into the primordial entropy of Chaos."

"That sounds… bleak." To the womans' credit, she did not balk at his claim. Merely accepted her lack of understanding and pressed on. "You clearly come from further than over the mountains, or across a sea."

"I come from a place where nature bows to the whims of man. Where men can speak across a million planets, and the furthest star lies in our grasp. We sail across the stars in ships that hold thousands, and create cities taller than the mightiest mountain."

"That sounds wonderful" she breathed, awed by his description.

"It is a hell" was his firm denial. He offered no explanation, and she did not seek one. Save for the simple question:

"Why tell me this? Prim said you barely spoke to her, refused to answer all but the simplest questions."

"I tell you" he said, measuring each word before he spoke, "because out of all the people I have met here, in Eostia, you are the only one who might believe me. You have a gift, Celestine."

"The visions" she stated, guessing his intent.

"In time, I may be able to make you understand. I doubt the others could, without your gift."

"I can tell them" she suggested.

"You could. Would they believe you?" he shrugged. "I won't stop you."

"Well, then, why did you come here? How did you come here?" She stepped closer, until her shoulder brushed his. Her closeness did not seem to bother her. The confidence she wore was returning. He could not lie that it did not stir emotions that he had thought shut away. Celestine was a staggeringly beautiful woman; her reputed ability and power made her even more attractive. He had known many commanders and lords before her. Her charisma poured out of her in a near relentless sea of confidence and respect that made many pale in comparison.

"I was hunting a daemon" he admitted. "Had the bastard cornered, until he tried to flee back into the Warp."

"The Warp?" Her eyebrows scrunched together, lips squirming hypnotically as she experimented with the unfamiliar word.

"The Warp is a hell that even the devil would flee from" he answered, satisfying her curiosity. "Something went wrong, though. And the rift it opened led us here. I followed it through. It is out there, somewhere. I intend to find it and kill it. Almost had it in the mountains near Miragar, but it fled to the wastes."

"You… you would have followed it into this _Warp_?" It was not so much disbelief on her voice, but incredulity. All things considered, she had taken it well so far.

"It's happened before. The Warp doesn't like trespassers." He felt a touch of play tugging at his mind. Curiosity won out, and he decided to offer the woman a friendly wink. To his own surprise, it felt genuine, and he realized that some of the tension had slipped away during their conversation. Perhaps it was getting this secret off his chest. Or perhaps it was merely the presence of a friendly face that he could trust.

Trust.

The word tasted sour on his tongue. For too long, that concept had been anathema. There were few things he trusted anymore, fewer people. Here in this strange place, he found himself surrounded by such simple and honest persons that it made him uneasy. It did not strike him as right. And that, he knew, was the problem. This place was far too good for him. He did not deserve a place like this.

And that was why he needed to leave.

"Just what is this _daemon_ " she asked.

"It is a sly creature, a being that stirs the lusts of men and seduces them to the darkest of sins. A servant of the Prince of Pleasure, the youngest of the Pantheon. It is called _Vitruoso_ , and it has destroyed a half-dozen worlds in my pursuit of it."

He knew it was safe to explain so succinctly, because this place lacked the taint of Chaos. In his wandering he had yet to find any trace, any indication, that the dark gods had discovered this world. The words of his mentor came vividly to mind as he considered the elf's innocence.

 _The Warp touches all. It spreads across time, across the physical plane, and across realities we could not imagine. It is everywhere, and yet you can trust that there are hidden corners of existence where the dark gods may never find. Places of solitude that lies under their very noses. Our universe is a rotten thing, corrupted by time and hatred and the gods themselves. But we are only one truth. There are far more out there, waiting to be discovered._

"That sounds…" her gaze dropped, and a sudden meekness swept over Celestine. She shuddered again, eyes widening in sudden inspiration. Slim hands reached up and clutched his jacket so it more fully covered her. "Oh."

"They brought me here to be rid of me" he said, drawing her embarrassment away. "Prim and Alicia. I believe they were hoping you would find some use of me."

"I assumed as much" she agreed, taking a half-step back, refusing to meet his eyes. "We are at war. The Dark Queen, she lives north of the mountains. The orcs and imps serve her, and under her command have battled us for a hundred years."

"You need her dead."

It was as much a question as a statement. He sensed the answer before she could reply. The hesitant way she spoke of this queen told volumes. No enmity between them, only sorrow, and regret. Perhaps they had not always been foes. Or perhaps there was some history between them. These elves lived a long time, he had been told. Not as long as the elf-like races he knew, but longer than humans. A hundred years was not an eternity to a long-lived race.

"No! I could never- I had a vision. Her power is going to weaken, and then it will break. My Shields are assembling for this very reason. I believe her power will fail soon, and I intend to end this war as quickly as possible. To that end, I am sending Vult and his Black Dogs mercenaries on a dangerous mission. They are to go to the Black Keep, and bring Olga to me."

"You want her as a prisoner."

"I want this war to end" she insisted. "But I do not wish her death."

"As I said, I don't fight for money." He shook his head. "No good comes of loyalty bought by coin."

"But would you fight for favor" she pressed, undeterred. "You say you are hunting this creature the fled to the north. That is her territory. Perhaps you may find it there."

To that, he remained silent, mulling over the suggestion. He had known it was coming. This talk of war was no subtle hint. And it would be much easier to hunt the daemon with an army at his side. It only to draw it out so he could kill it. Sacrifices were always necessary when dealing with the monsters of the Warp.

"If I agree to this, I do not serve under your commanders."

"What?"

"I am here to hunt a monster. Believe me when I say the daemon I hunt is more dangerous than anything your Dark Queen can muster. If I find it, that is my only purpose."

"That… I accept." She frowned solemnly, but nodded her head.

"Then it is settled." He pushed off the railing and smoothed his shirt. "If you don't mind, I'll retire for the night. It's been a long day for both of us. We can discuss more in the morning."

"Yes, it is late" she agreed without missing a beat. Sliding his jacket off her shoulders, she offered it back. "Thank you for your concern, Reaper."

"Louk." He told her.

"Beg pardon?"

"Name's Louk. Louk Shannegh."

 **-v-**

A crowd had gathered in the barracks training square. Knights from the Dawn Templars, the Holy Iris Chivalric Order, soldiers of Ken, and a whole mob of Black Dog mercenaries crowded around the makeshift arena, eyeing the participants with interest, hooting and hollering encouragement or insult as they saw fit, passing bets of coin or commodities back and forth in a blurry that would make the market tenders jealous. Near the entirety of the barracks had turned out, in addition to many off duty soldiers and a good chunk of the mercenaries that were allowed into the grounds of the White Citadel.

Maia, the mercenary queen, a commander of the vaunted Seven Shields, and former member of the Black Dogs company, pushed through the crowd with good-natured grumbling, forcing men apart as she cleared a path for herself and the two knight commanders. All in all, it was a good morning. She had arrived just now to Ken, and on arriving at the White Citadel had been informed that Celestine was in session with the Archbishop, and not to be disturbed for some hours. With free time to kill and Vult's own flag hanging from one of the barracks buildings, she did not most reasonable thing that came to mind: she went to see her old commander, only to find a commotion of startling proportions blocking her way.

There was no doubt why Maia had been offered a position by the Goddess to her Seven Shields. Tall and lanky, but blessed with strength forged in a lifetime of war, Maia cut an impressive figure even when not in full battle armor. Her wild red hair, often kept pulled back by a simple headband, could be seen no matter where she fought on the field, and her tangerine-colored eyes held a mesmerizing furiosity when her anger roused. Her ferocious temper paired with a legendary skill at arms, being competent with more weapons than most mercenaries held in an entire lifetime of fighting, not to mention having a sharp tactical knowhow that led her commands to victory after victory over the demon legion of the Dark Queen.

Alicia and Claudia had joined her at the entrance to the barracks, the former glaring impatiently into the main grounds, the latter entertaining a patient smile. The two knight commanders greeted Maia cordially, waiting a full two breaths before Alicia grumbled about the lawless mercenaries wasting their time in playing at soldiery. Brushing off the complaint, Maia discovered the source of the young knight's displeasure.

She had brought a new face to meet the Goddess. Some strange man with a penchant for rudeness and great skill with a blade. The good Knight Levantine explained how the man had exchanged words with Vult the night before, and in typical male fashion, a challenge had been placed early in the morning. So, rather than be assembled and prepared to ride out on an early morning maneuver, their knights had joined the crowd to watch what could possibly be the most useless show of manliness in a long time.

That was how Alicia had explained it. Maia's tongue practically watered at the thought of seeing Vult in action. The mercenary general had yet to find a warrior his equal in one-on-one combat. Even Claudia Levantine admitted she would have a hard go attempting to fight the man. Maia herself knew she could only dream of defeating Vult in a duel. The man's speed and strength were unbelievable.

No sooner had the knight commanders explained it, Maia dove into the crowd with urgency, determined to reach a ringside view of the challenge. It had been ages since Vult had entertained a duel like this. There simply hadn't been anyone to challenge him. Knowing the morning operation was beyond salvage, Alicia and Claudia had followed. The younger knight continued to grumble, bemoaning the lost opportunity. Maia knew full well that Alicia had wanted to impress her mentor, and Claudia clearly did too, judging by the graceful way she accepted the younger Shield's complaints with a half-smile. Older and wiser, Claudia knew the value of relieving stress. It was clear to see that Alicia's knights were still shaken by the ambush on the road to Ken. They needed something to take their minds off their lost comrades.

Not to mention, Maia thought shrewdly, the Knight Levantine appeared to harbor her own eagerness to watch this duel. It was no secret that Claudia made a goal of learning how to best Vult, if only for her own sense of honor. It rankled her that a mere mercenary was considered the best fighter in Eostia, even though she held no ill-will towards Vult. The two were friendly enough, and many battles fought side by side had strengthened their camaraderie. It was an unspoken joke among the baser mercenaries that Claudia should have married Vult rather than her soft-spoken scholarly husband.

Breaching the sea of onlookers, Maia registered the familiar thrill that tickled her spine at the sight of her former commander. Vult, mercenary general of the Black Dogs, undefeated duelist and top tier strategist, not to mention the man that held her heart for so long, stood confidently on one end of the arena. The dueling ring had been hastily assembled with stakes driven into the sand, connected by red strips of cloth to mark the edge. He had forgone his heavier, plated armor, wearing hardened leather with a single shoulder pauldron instead. The massive cleaver of a sword he wielded, fully six feet long in blade alone and weighing more than a child, stood proudly beside him, buried a foot into the sand, and still as tall as most of the crowd. The quiet strength radiating from the man was infectious, and Maia waved at the mercenary general. The gesture caught Vult's attention, and he shot her a cheeky wink.

"About time you got here" Vult called out to here. "You were about to miss all the fun."

"Wouldn't dream of it" Maia shouted back, fighting to be heard over the hubbub of the crowd.

"Claudia, Alicia." He tipped his head to acknowledge the others. "Heard you were going to ride out this morning. Sorry for occupying your ladies."

"It will do them good to learn from this" Claudia shot back, a smirk teasing at her lips. "There will always be time to ride. To learn from a master, that is rare."

"I don't know." Vult gripped his sword by the hilt and heaved it out of the sand. The crowd quieted in anticipation, sensing the beginning of this monumental duel. "They learn from you every day, don't they?"

She did smile this time, and Maia felt a pang of jealousy at the attention Vult lavished on the commander of the Dawn Templars. The relationship those two had was strictly, unequivocally professional, but they were far closer than she and Vult were. Maia had fought alongside the mercenary general for twice as long, and Vult still treated her as the little girl that he had saved from the demons sacking her hometown. He respected her, treated her fairly. But she could not draw that easy smile from him the same way that Claudia did.

A long figure made its way through the crowd on the other side. Maia turned to watch eagerly, excited to see this stranger that had earned Vult's attention in a duel. It must be a man of great stature, and she pictured a suitably impressive giant in her mind. Surely this was going to be a fight of legend. When he made his way out of the mob, drifting into the arena in utter silence, Maia felt a twinge of unexpected trepidation settle in her gut. She did not know why; the stranger that Alicia and the others had spoken of did not appear particularly intimidating. He wore a long-tailed jacket with a cloth hood, unarmored trousers, and carried a single, elegant sword at his hip. He was not some giant orc monstrosity or heavily armored soldier. The man refused to even lift his head, instead staring at a point just past Vult and beneath him as if the mercenary general were not even there. But there was no mistaking the sense of dread that spread across her, and the whole crowd. The mumblers fell silent, and all eyes fixed on the man who had accepted Vult's challenge.

"First blood" Vult declared, sweeping his monster sword in a lazy arc. "Or stepping out of the circle."

"Sure" the challenger agreed, his voice low and rumbling, like thunder on the far side of the plains.

'You gonna draw your sword?" Vult tossed his blade up to rest on his shoulder, head tilting to one side as he finalized his pre-battle analysis of the man. Maia had seen that look many times, often just moments before a duel ended within three strokes. Vult's duels rarely lasted a minute.

"This blade leaves its scabbard to kill." The man eased his hood back with one hand, revealing a strong face that may had been handsome, save for the glowering expression that hid behind his eyes even as the rest of his face remained neutral. Maia's skin prickled, and she covered the response by reaching up to scratch at the back of her neck.

"He's a dour one, eh?" Glancing at the two knight commanders, she expected a response. Alicia grimaced, eyes fixed on the blade with a peculiar intensity. The older Knight Levantine pressed her lips together, drinking in the stranger's posture and bearing in a sure sign of her own battle analysis.

"He is fast" Alicia admitted, the words grinding past her teeth as if she struggled to drown them. "Reaper killed three orcs with a rapier designed for Prim."

"Did he now? Why was he using that?" Maia's teasing words earned no rejoinder, which told the mercenary Shield that it was a touchy subject. It did not matter; she would learn it soon enough, Maia supposed. If this man had drawn the attention of Alicia and Prim, and now Celestine herself, then he was something special.

This would be a real test, to see if he had earned this attention. If Vult beat him senseless, well, that would probably happen anyways. The question was, how long would he last against the mercenary general.

"Four" she declared, drawing bemused looks from her fellow Shields.

"Eight" Alicia countered, which all but begged an explanation of this stranger from the Knight Commander of Feoh.

"Hmph." Shrugging the questions aside, Maia looked over at Claudia. The older woman had grown a pensive frown, and she leaned on her left foot as she mulled the contest. Left foot meant serious. Maia question whether or not to revise her estimate of the duel. Claudia rarely misjudged these duels. "Claudia."

"I… do not know" the oldest Shield answered.

In the arena, the two competitors had begun. Stubbornly refusing the offer to draw his sword, the challenger accepted a blade from Ila, one of Alicia's knights. He tested it twice, checking the balance, before committing his readiness by holding it out for Vult. The mercenary general grinned fiercely and advanced, his own much larger blade extended to touch.

"You don't know how long he'll last" Maia asked, wondering if the knight commander expected a short or long fight.

"I do not know if Vult will win" was her staggering reply.

Maia's mouth opened in shock, staring at Claudia for a sign that the woman was joking. Knight Levantine hard rarely appeared more serious. She wore the same grace expression from the Battle of Breaking Dawn, when she and Maia had held the line against a demon force ten times their number, barely keeping the monsters at bay until unexpected reinforcements from Vult and his Black Dogs had won the day.

The slap of blades clashing stole her attention back to the arena. Anticipation flooded her veins, and Maia suddenly felt very uncertain.

Vult was backpedaling.

A blinding flurry of lunges and high strikes pummeled him, the stranger advancing steadily, taking the lighter knight sword through a punishing series of blows that had the mercenary general on the defensive. Ringing steel filed the arena as if a dozen combatants had engaged. Breathless, Maia gripped her knife hilts and watched, awed by the stranger's speed. She could barely keep up with his movements, and that was from standing a good dozen paces away. How Vult managed to stay in step eluded her. But her respect for Vult rose yet again. The man was a legend.

Of course, she had allowed herself to be drawn in by the spectacle.

Retreating until his feet neared the damning red fabric of the arena's edge, Vult had adapted to the swift blows of his opponent. The speed of his swings confused most of the onlookers, but as the recipient of Reaper's attention, he had recognized the simple, blaring pattern of attack. High strike, high strike, lunge left, high strike, high strike, lunge right. It was so painfully novice and childish. The first rule of swordplay was do not be predictable. Once he discovered the rhythm, disrupting it came as naturally as breathing.

A roar burst from Vult's lungs as he leapt into the man's reach, parrying the left lunge away, and swept up with the pommel of his sword. Reaper dodged back, bending nearly in half at the waist, and spun counter to the blow, putting distance between them even as Vult followed through with a reverse downstroke that shook the ground when it hit. Following immediately with a lunge of his own, Vult sent the stranger leaping high only to launch his sword flat-first up, aiming to smash the man's legs out from under him.

Reaper twisted midair, tucking his legs to the side, and _rolled_ off of Vult's sword, spinning dizzyingly fast until his feet kicked out and planted, legs bent nearly parallel to the ground.

It was a move none present had ever seen. Even Claudia gasped in wonder at the man's speed and grace. It was inhuman.

"That speed" Alicia breathed, her own displeasure forgotten at the intensity of the fight. "Goddess, did you see that?"

Giving each other space, the two men readied their blades and circled. Vult's grin remained plastered on his face, his enjoyment of the duel clearly rising with every passing second. Reaper, on the other hand, remained as emotionless and unreadable as when he had set foot into the arena.

"Still betting on four" Claudia asked dryly, smoothing over her amazement at the display.

Maia found herself wondering if Claudia's guess had been the most accurate.

When they clashed again, it was an even match.

Four: Vult's horizontal swing was thrown high by a redirect, with Reaper using the momentum of the blow to slide directly behind Vult and kick at his backside. But the mercenary general rotated into the blow, lifting his leg to hook Reaper's foot. For a perilous second, the two men wavered, each with a foot off the ground. Then Reaper leapt off the ground and delivered a kick with his other foot that sent Vult staggering backwards, winded but uninjured.

Five: A four-strike combination by Reaper ended abruptly as Vult smashed the knight's blade aside and nearly bisected Reaper through the chest. The man flowed around Vult's blade like water, narrowly avoiding a fatal blow. Vult was not pulling his punches, Maia realized. At least, not mark of respect astounded her, and she joined the cheering throng, shouting Vult's name to spur him on.

Back and forth the men battled, moving across the arena again and again, Reaper's speed matched by Vult's brawn. The crowd of onlookers loved it. At first, the cheers had been solely for Vult, as the reigning champion and known figure. More and more, voices rose for Vult's opponent, if only for the man's skill and dexterity behind his blade. Maia could not fault them, even though she dearly prayed for Vult's victory. The two men fought with finely tuned aggression. Any blow could have spelled the death of the other had they connected.

Eight strikes was long behind them. Maia was not counting anymore. She did not care. She merely watched in awe as two masters of the blade sparked their steel together in a terrifying dance of death.

"He's a monster" Maia gasped. Reaper's one-handed blow connected badly with Vult's greater weight and power. The blade ripped out of his palm, spinning freely in the air, only for Reaper's other hand to snatch it out of the air in a reverse-grip and plunge it behind himself towards Vult's belly. The mercenary general jumped high, clearing the smaller man's body, and landed in front with his monstrous sword arcing around to cut the man in half from the ground up. Reaper threw himself into a backwards flip, narrowly avoiding the sword, and landed where Vult had initially stood, their positions nearly inverted from the start of the series.

A cold, mirthless grin began to ease onto Reaper's mouth.

"I challenged you to a duel, not a dance" Vult taunted, enjoying the fight.

"They you shouldn't have word a dress" the man growled, indicating Vult's scale-armored skirt.

Hollers of laughter joined the cheers, and Vult's grin erupted in a barking laugh. "Ha! I must admit, Reaper. It's been too long since I enjoyed a fight like this. You are an excellent opponent."

"Wish I could say the same."

That caused the mercenary's eyes to narrow; not out of anger but calculating challenge. Lunging forwards, Vult threw his giant blade out in a dizzying display of finesse that most duelists could hardly match with a light sword. Reaper caught every blow, the knight's sword ringing like the church bells as it parried, countered, parried, parried. Maia began to question if the duel would continue all morning. They had been fighting for near ten minutes now, with hardly a respite. And neither appeared the slightest bit tired.

Then Reaper's back foot buckled suddenly, and the man's weight lurched awkwardly.

"He tripped" Alicia shouted, leaning forward for a better view, her excitement burning like fire that matched Maia's own.

"No" Claudia warned. "It is a feint."

She called it correctly. Sensing the weakness, Vult chased Reaper's retreating form with a triumphant shout, blade aimed for sure blood. It shot forward at the speed of lightning. But it never connected. Reaper's tumble reversed abruptly, kicking off his supposedly weakened foot to slide under Vult's blade, his legs splitting flat to the ground. The smaller knight blade flicked out, and scarlet blood leapt high into the air.

The crowd fell deathly silent. Vult took a quiet step back, staring incredulously at the dark red droplets spilling from the cut under his bicep. Reaper stood, rising like liquid to his feet, and held up his own hand; bloody from a long but shallow cut along the back of his hand.

"T… tie" one of Vult's mercenary lieutenants called out, his disbelief evident. Hicks, Vult's lead scout and cavalry commander, stepped into the arena, feet shifting numbly towards his boss. Grabbing both men's bloody limbs, he held them up for all to see. "We have a… tie!"

The man obviously could not believe the words coming out of his own mouth. Confused murmurs rippled through the crowd, until first one, then a dozen, then the entire mob let out an exulting roar, hands slamming together in raucous applause. Even Vult cheered, wrenching his arm free of Hicks only to grab Reaper's and hold it high. The mercenary general of the Black Dogs picked up his giant blade and waved it in the air, showing Reaper's blood on its edge.

"Holy Goddess" Maia whispered, too stunned to join the cheering crowd. The assembled crowd rushed the arena, eager to congratulate both their homeborn challenger and the mysterious Reaper. Unwilling to join the press like a naive girl, Maia held back, craning on her toes to try and catch Vult's eye. "That was incredible. I've never seen anything like it."

"With those two side by side" Alicia added, lost in the exhilaration of the spectacle, "the Dark Queen won't stand a chance!"

"Huh?" Maia shot the woman a quizzical look.

"Oh." Alicia covered her mouth. "I shouldn't have said that. You'll know at Council."

"Ah. Good enough." Eager to return to the moment, Maia shot the other knight commander a questioning look, wondering just what Claudia had thought of the fight.

The commander of the Dawn Templars had disappeared. Maia frowned and pushed her way back through the crowd, aiming for the exit. Hurrying to the entrance of the barracks, she caught sight of Claudia entering the White Citadel, a grim look on her face. Then the white doors closed, and Maia decided it wasn't worth investigating. Praying that she would have time to greet her former commander, she turned back and dove into the crowd.

Reaper brushed past her, slipping through the crowd with the ease of a fish navigating downstream. Head down, hood pulled tight, he parted the bodies and strode on out of the barracks. No one seemed to notice his departure, though she heard calls from further in seeking the man.

"Reaper" she greeted, angling to intercept his path.

The man stopped, turning slowly to face her. That unfamiliar sensation of dread crept across her skin, and she swallowed nervously.

"That was a… good fight. I haven't seen Vult tested like that in forever."

"He is skilled" the man grunted.

"You're bleeding" Maia noted.

"So I am." The man tucked his bloodied hand in his pocket, uncaring that the blood might stain. "You're Maia, then."

"Yes." She held out her hand, expecting him to shake it. He did not, though she sensed it was not because of disrespect. Merely disinterest. That was less insulting, but still bothered her enough that she grimaced and took a step back. "So what makes you so important? Besides being damn skilled with a blade, that is."

"I have many skills that extend far beyond simple swordsmanship" the man assured her.

"Do you now?" She put her hands on her hips and stared up at him. His insolence irked Maia, and she felt the natural rush of energy as he mind sensed a battle. Not of blade and steel, but of words. She was not one to back down from a fight of any kind.

"Perhaps you will see it, someday." He gestured to the White Citadel. "If you would excuse me. I would like to clean up before this meeting that your goddess has called us for."

"She's your goddess too" Maia snapped, narrowing her eyes at the man.

Reaper chuckled dryly. The sound sent a spasm of ice lancing through her chest.

"No. She is not."

Offering nothing else, the man strode past her, heading for the doors of the White Citadel. His wounded hand emerged from its pocket and waved dismissively at her, in insult or regard she did not know. Confused, and angry at the man's words, Maia studied his retreating form. Who was this strange man? No regular mercenary, because she would have heard of him. The whole of Eostia would have heard of a man who could match Vult in a duel.

So who was this man, and where had he come from? Maia decided she needed to find out. Alicia had made it clear her dislike of the man would spoil any attempt to learn more, which meant she mercenary Shield had to go to the next best person. Prim had been there too. Maybe the princess of Feoh could tell her something that would clue her into just who this man was.

Whatever he was, Maia had a bad feeling that Reaper's arrival did not bode well.


	4. The Sword of a Goddess

**Author's Notes: So first of all, I am terrible at math and greatly overestimated how much of this I had written out. That being said, I still have a bit before I run out of already written stuff, so I can keep a decent pace going for a little while longer. Secondly, for those who had seen my other profile, here is my obligatory GW rant:** **THE SPRING FAQ IS A COMPLETE MESS. "HEY, LET'S MAKE THE DARK ELDAR THE ONLY CODEX THAT FOCUSES ON GIMMICKY, FLUFFY BUT BAD RULES. BY THE WAY, THEY'RE TOTALLY ILLEGAL NOW. YOUR ENTIRE CODEX IS BULLSHIT. WHAT'S THAT? WE TELL YOU TO TAKE MULTIPLE PATROLS THAT NEARLY EQUATE TO STANDARD FORCE ORG CP? FUCK YOU! WE GAVE BATTALIONS MORE CP, SO YOUR ILLEGAL LIST IS EVEN SHITTIER THAN IT ALREADY WAS! WANT TO TAKE A BRIGADE OF WYCH CULT? TOO BAD, THEY DON'T HAVE A HEAVY SUPPORT OPTION! WANT TO TAKE SCOURGES? THEY GET ZERO BENEFITS FROM YOUR ARMY! WANT TO FIGHT PSYKERS? NO! GET SMITED OFF THE BOARD BECAUSE 1 DIFFICULTY PER SMITE MEANS FUCK-ALL WHEN THE SMITE-ABUSING ARMIES HAVE REROLLS AND BONUSES TO CASTING!"**

 **God damn, 8th edition is such a clusterfuck and it isn't even a year old. I can't even play standard games anymore because it's too much effort to keep up with the SIX GODDAMN BOOKS needed to play a single army list.**

 **(deep breath)**

 **K, that should be all the ranting you'll see in this story. On to more productive things, a couple notes for the readers:**

 **1) the storyline will not be changed too much, other than some events being swapped about in the timeline. I don't plan on completely upsetting the world's balance, though I am definitely considering taking a page from The Night Unfurls and perhaps having a small Inquisition created. But that would most likely be as far as it goes.**

 **2) Armor. It's a thing. Outside of armor, the gals of Kuroinu are basically as is. Whatever, it's based on a H-game. But in armor, picture actual armor. Last chapter I told someone I basically think of Claudia's heavy plate as Reinhart-level. She'll have a lighter armor set for travel and such, but the fighters will be wearing full wargear (except Maia. That's kind of her personality is a light fighter)** **if you have any questions you want addressed outside of specific review responses, let me know via PM or in reviews. I will try to answer broad questions like above, going forwards.**

Reviewers-

Sociopathic-Anarchist- The power sword is going to be his ace-in-the-hole for now. And the sidearm (laspistol for sheer sake of him needing to be able to fire it more than five times throughout the story) is going to be his "i-win" button. As for storyline changes, he isn't going to dramatically upheave the whole world, but there might be an Inquisition in Eostia's future.

Great Celestial Dragon- Orks would probably be confused for a minute, forget why they were there, and default to "krumpin' 'eads" mode

Abdiel Amaro- Well, I'm not going super fetish on this one. There'll be plenty of adult content, but I have zero interest in going into the really creepy stuff. As for my other account, just google "Louk Shannegh" and "fanfic." You'll find it pretty easily.

JauneBrando- Yeah, naruto fans seem to spread across fanfic like a virus. They're everywhere, and usually pretty trash. Not that I'm firing shade, but there are so many carbon-copy Naruto cringe stories out there

ThatOneGuyUpstairs- Yup. Way ahead of you on that one. This story is going to have plenty of the standard plot in there, but all the bad guys (and perhaps even some of the good guys) are going to get their special brand of Slaaneshi sauce

SomeGuyOverHere- Louk definitely is a constantly evolving character. In my plans for him, I certainly want to flesh out the 'early years' of his immortality. Because, let's face it. NOBODY should adjust well to suddenly being immortal. There should be a hell of a long period of uncertainty, angst, and anger issues. Even from an 'adult.' As for the others, it's all about making it believable, just like Louk and Auriel. I enjoy fleshing out the lore of whatever I look at. And Vult, well, he's basically Guts from Berserk, so I more or less just imagined how devastating it would be for Guts to have a Griffith-level fall (Fuck that guy, btw). And the daemon makes it all work together.

 **Hope y'all enjoy!**

 **The White Citadel, Ken**

The Shields had assembled.

Celestine Lucross sat at the head of her Council table, clothed in her regal white gown, expression neutral and carefully schooled as she looked out at her assembled commanders. It had been five years since the Seven Shields had entertained counsel together. The duties of governorship and war had weighed on them all. Four sat on her right, three on her left, each joined in low conversation with another or busy eyeing those around the table. They were a grand assemblage, the most powerful women of Eostia, each a leader of men and accomplished in their particular trade. Knights, rulers, mystics, and priestesses.

To her immediate right, Claudia Levantine, the commander of the Dawn Templars, sat in poised silence, her hands clasped and set on the table's edge. It was easy to overlook her matronly visage when dressed in full armor, her heavy plate burying her loveliness behind its steel barriers. Bereft of her wargear, she often wore simple, undecorated clothing more befitting a well-to-do commoner than a noble. A simple golden blouse emphasized her lovely blue eyes, its modestly cut cleavage reminding all present that Claudia was a woman blessed with handsome charm, while not drawing scandalous attention to her feminine physique. A black ribbon held her long auburn hair in a tight bun, allowing only carefully presented locks to frame her strong face. Claudia had long been Celestine's right hand, a voice of reason and benevolence at peace and of swift determination at war. Her marriage to Klaus Levantine had caused a scandal in the nobility; the scholarly son of Grave Levantine had none of the outward qualities they had expected in her choice of a partner. He was sickly, weak, and mild-mannered. Celestine knew well how dearly the two were in love, even after years of heartbreak over their inability to conceive. It was a sore topic for Claudia, and one that Celestine had resolved to never burden her friend with.

The next of the Shields was Alicia Arcturus. Young, brash, and eager to please, Alicia wore the responsibilities of her position well despite the enormous pressure resting on her shoulders. The commandery of Eostia's second most powerful order of knights was no easy task, and the blonde knight applied her own measure of responsibility far beyond what others had in the past. Still, her inclusion in the Shields had not been questioned. Many had applauded the choice, glad to see a member of the famed Arcturus family held close to Celstine's counsel. To her credit, Alicia had accepted the mantle with grace and acuity, sliding into her role with the same intensity she approached all aspects of her life. Her command of the North had kept it well protected. Her only fault, in Celestine's mind, was the girl's utter lack of interest in the very thing that plagued her so. Carrying on the Arcturus name. Celestine was that Alicia would find a good man in time; plenty of aspiring nobleman sought her affections on a regular basis. But the girl would have none of it; nothing mattered to her except her duty and her cousin. In accordance with such motivation, she had chosen to wear armor to the meeting. Not her full ensemble, but the trimmed-down breastplate that bore her family crest and elegant greaves that clicked together under the table. The ceremonial armor was not intended for wartime use, though like any armor it had much to offer for protecting its wearer. But this was her way of acknowledging the subdued nature of this meeting. The girl's blue dress matched nicely with the silver-lined armor, cheerfully visible while not stealing attention.

Beside Alicia, the youngest member of the Shields remained utterly still, eyes closed in meditation. Kaguya, maiden shrine priestess of Thorn, was a quiet and taciturn member of the Shields. Though the youngest and most recent addition to the Shields, Kaguya radiated a calming peacefulness that eased their most heated debates and soothed the most ruffled tempers. Were it not for the demonic incursions affecting her homeland, Kaguya most certainly would not have come, even at Celestine's request. The priestess cared little for the greater world; her only concern was in serving her god and aiding her fellow priestesses. Even this far from her temple, she wore her red and white robes of office with pride, her short black hair spilling form under her elaborate headdress of office. Even to Celestine, Kaguya was a mystery. The god she served was as strange and mysterious as the newcomer, yet Celestine had found no worry or fear of its worship. She was not, after all, a jealous person. As long as her people prospered, she was content. With luck, Kaguya would soon be able to return to Thorn and never need be called away again. Though Celestine would miss seeing the young woman, Kaguya's only love lay in Thorn, alongside her priestesses.

Last on that side, Maia the Mercenary Queen fiddled with a dagger, turning the blade over and over in her hands. A petulant grimace had spilled onto her face, and she cast brooding eyes over at the newcomer sitting at the far end of the table. Celestine had been informed of the duel between Vult and Reaper earlier in the morning; those in attendance had spoken favorably of it and considered it to be one of the greatest displays of swordsmanship Eostia had seen in some time. That being said, something there had disturbed the redheaded warrior. Maia's normally garrulous and carefree nature was muffled, replaced by this dourness that was entirely out of character for her. Her shaggy hair fluttered limply as she shook her head at some unseen question, offering a shrug that pulled her padded red shirt dangerously open. Outside of battle, she rarely tied it closed. When Celestine had asked, the mercenary only replied that she liked the air on her chest. It was one of the many things about Maia that Celestine was sure she would never understand.

Across from Maia, Vult filled his chair with the confidence of a man among peers. Leaning easily onto one armrest, he nursed a crystal glass of wine and exchanged words with Maia, casually discussing their recent battles and excursions. The mercenary general of the Black Dogs looked none the worse for wear, considering his duel earlier. A simple bandage on his arm was the only sign he had seen combat, much less had his blood drawn. Always cheerful and upbeat, Vult was perhaps the most relaxed in the room. There was little that bothered the man, other than the thought of missing a battle. Here, with the entirety of the Shields assembled, battle was on the horizon. He could smell it, and that excited him. It was no secret that he boasted his Black Dogs could, if assembled all together, best the Dark Queen's whole legion. That boast might be put to the test soon. More than half the Black Dogs were scattered about Eostia, either on guard duties or assisting the various lords of the land. Vult's mercenaries were consummate professionals, and his officer corps were held to the highest standards. A band of Black Dogs could be trusted no matter where they went. That was one of the things Celestine admired most about the man. Vult had fashioned Eostia's rabble of mercenaries into a formidable, trustworthy fighting force. After Olga's legion was broken, Celestine felt confident she could leave Eostia in the care of the Black Dogs with nothing to fear.

Luu-Luu sat next to Vult, her height boosted by a pillow so that the diminutive halfling could be seen as easily as the others. Though small in stature, barely reaching Vult's chest, Luu-Luu had a passionate heart and the fiery disposition of a person three times her size. The leader of Ansur was a master inventor, a ferocious warrior, and one of the staunchest allies Celestine had ever met. She protected her fellow Shields and her people with the ferocity of a mother bear, and was always quick to offer her support, as well as go marching into battle alongside an army of beastkin, halflings, and the exotic warmachines her people made. The march of the halfling army was always loud, chaotic, and brutally effective. Luu-Luu's leadership anchored the eastern regions, and she made it a point of pride to always be the first to muster her forces when called upon. Sensing that another such mustering was on the way, she had arrived with the news that a full battalion of her people were currently already in muster, preparing for whatever plans Celestine had come up with. The fierce little halfling leader had arrived in typical fashion, riding a steam-powered airship that barely avoided crashing into the walls of the White Citadel as she wrestled with its controls. It was hard to take Luu-Luu seriously at a glance, Celestine admitted. Her ranting and raving could easily mistake her for a petulant child, but behind her floppy green hat and the green robe of the Ansur Engineering Guild was an intelligence that awed even Celestine.

Finally, of course, there was Prim. Demure and meek at Celestine's left, her pretty pink hair a delight to see as the princess of Feoh delicately picked up her glass and sipped at the morning wine. Her spirits had recovered since her arrival; Vult had a way of chasing away her concerns and fears whenever they were together. Beautiful and innocent, Prim's presence always soothed Celestine's own worries; the girl was Celestine's pride and joy. Seeing such a young thing handle so much, wearing the crown of Feoh with the dignity and grace of a ruler much older, encouraged Celestine that there was hope for all. If the young princess of Feoh could be such a successful ruler, how could they all not find success in their paths? Truly, Prim was adored by them all, excepting Kaguya perhaps, and that was only for the woman's lack of interest in all things outside of her temple. Maia doted on the princess like a little sister. Claudia mentored her and taught her as a mother might. Alicia was… well, the cousins were as close as twins. Luu-Luu loved to joke that Prim should have been born a halfling, so that the two of them could make wonderful inventions together. And Vult… Celestine had been aware for some time that the hardened mercenary general, for all of his flirtations, was as protective of Prim as any of them. He loved the princess like a brother, and could be counted on to drop whatever he was doing should word reach him that Prim was in danger or threatened. He had scared off more than one unwanted suitor from her doorstep, without her knowledge. It warmed Celestine's heart to see Prim's serene smile return.

Finally, sitting quietly at the end, hands hidden under the table and face shadowed by his hood, Louk Shannegh sat waiting the Council meeting. His presence had drawn more than a few questioning looks. Even Vult had been surprised by the man's entrance. He was neither a Shield nor a commander. When Celestine had indicated for the man to take a seat, the whispers had started immediately. He was the stranger, the odd man out. By inviting him to the Council without their knowledge, Celestine knew she had put them at a disadvantage. That had not been her intent, of course. His sudden arrival had thrown them all off balance. As he had claimed last night, however, he would offer his services in this upcoming endeavor. The services of a man who could bring Vult to the arena, and then come out standing, were not to be sniffed at. Though she had only heard the reports, the consensus of Reaper, Louk Shannegh, was that he was a terrific fighter.

She knew he was so much more than that. It was a pity she could not tell them all. They would not believe it. They could not believe it. She hardly did herself, even with what he had told her and what she had seen when she looked into his eyes.

Those eyes. A flicker of trepidation caressed her spine as Louk Shannegh lifted his head back, the shadow retreating just enough to reveal the cold, humorless eyes that had chilled her to the core on the balcony. There was no malice in his gaze, only the weary hardness of a man who had seen far too much blood. That was what it was, she had finally realized as sleep had claimed her. He was not a man of cruel intentions; he was a man who had bathed in the darkness and sadness of a cruel world for so long he did not know anything else.

Celestine had promised herself that she would help him. Though she did not know how to go about doing that, she would strive to bring him back, to show him a world of light and happiness that might ease the anger and sorrow from his soul. It would not be easy, but she was the Goddess Reborn. It was her duty, and she would not shirk from it.

"Friends" she announced, drawing all conversation to a close. Her Shields turned to regard her expectantly. Reaper shifted ever so slightly taller, indicating his attention. For a moment, she remained silent, looking over her counselors with the twinge of uncertainty that always came just before delivering her plan. "Friends, I am thankful you were able to come so quickly. I called you together because I have had another vision."

The announcement drew mutters of astonishment from those assembled, save Claudia and the grim-faced newcomer. Celestine gave them a few seconds to let it out before she quieted them with a wave of her hand.

"Please, friends, I will explain all. My vision was not clear, but I can tell you this. Sometime very soon, the Dark Queen's power will fail her." She allowed her gaze to slide across each in turn, capturing their attention and reinforcing the severity of her claim. "I cannot say when or how this will occur, only that it must be soon. To that end, I propose an immediate invasion of Garan. I have ascertained through scrying that the Dark Queen has pulled her legion north, though why I cannot fathom. We have a small window of opportunity here, my friends. This war has gone on far too long, and I wish to see its end."

"My halflings are up for it" Luu-Luu chimed in, waving her hand in the air like a schoolchild eager for her teacher's attention. "We've got some brand new plans drawn up for a cannon that'll blow her fortress to smithereens. Just have to figure out how to put it together is all."

"The Dawn Templars stand ready" Claudia added, speaking with the certainty of a woman who had already known what was to be said. Indeed, she had summoned all but a skeleton force to remain in Geofu as soon as Celestine had confided in her regarding the vision.

"I will send for my knights" the younger of the knight commanders added, quick to echo her mentor's pledge. A short glance across the table to Prim confirmed that such a thing was doable, and permissible.

The stranger remained silent through it all, ignoring the rest of the table, watching Celestine. One of his hands appeared above the table, coming to rest easily next to his untouched glass. Last night he had drunk frugally, but seemed to enjoy the wine. Today he refused to touch it. Strange, she allowed herself to consider that. It seemed such a small matter compared to the other ones at hand.

"I appreciate your aid and your loyalty" she assured her Shields. "But the truth of the matter is I have already designed how this may be accomplished. This is, it will be, a desperate gamble. I could hardly sanction the idea of sending you all into harm's way. This will be a dangerous task, one that I must respectfully forbid many of you from joining. There is no guarantee that the Dark Queen's legion will be avoided, or that the full might of her legion can be bested in their own territory."

Her cautious words dulled the enthusiasm of the others, but only for a moment. The scrape of a chair being shoved back drew their attention to Vult. The mercenary general stood proudly, both hands on the table. "Well then, I know why I'm here. You need the Black Dogs for this, don't you?"

There was no accusation in his voice, or anger in his expression. On the contrary, his self-certainty bordered on arrogance, as if he had known she would need his help. He lifted a hand to thump his chest. "The Black Dogs have the numbers to make this work. Give me a three days and I'll have fifteen thousand men ready to march for you. We'll have the Black Fortress in ruins by the end of the month."

The ease with which he made the claim could not be ignored. Certainly the Black Dogs had twice as many men spread throughout the lands. Being able to assemble so many on such short notice was only because he had recently returned from patrolling the northern borders of Rad. The fact that the Black Dogs numbered in the tens of thousands had unsettled many nobles and leaders in the past; Celestine would have been uneasy with it too had their commander been anything less than Vult.

"Two days" she countered, drawing a look of surprise across the mercenary's face. He had not expected a counter offer, she thought with an inward smile. After considering the math in his head, Vult nodded and sat back down.

"Eight thousand, then. Should be more than enough. I will send across Eostia to have reserves follow us in. If there'll be a battle, you can bet we'll need them."

"I volunteer to accompany Vult" Maia insisted. She rose and made a half-bow to Celestine. "With respect, Goddess, even without my company I know I will be an asset to Vult's Black Dogs."

"I understand, but I must decline." Celestine felt sorry for the Mercenary Queen. It was an obvious ploy, an attempt to garner attention from her former leader. The woman's blind love for Vult would put her in danger, some day. Celestine would not let that happen while she had a say in it. "Vult, you will take your Black Dogs and march straight for the Black Fortress. Defeat any that stand before you, but I want Olga Discordia brought back alive."

"Alive, eh?" The brawny mercenary flexed his neck, eliciting a few crackling pops. "Shouldn't be that hard. I'll have Kin draft a proposal for your approval, ma'am."

"That will be fine" Celestine agreed. "However, I have one request to add to your assignment."

"Hm… Take my men into the wastelands, battle hordes of demons, capture the second most powerful sorceress in Eostia alive… all with two days to plan it out…" his cheeky grin betrayed his amusement. "Say it, and I will honor it."

"Take Master Shannegh with you." Celestine gestured to the newcomer.

"You can't be serious!" Maia threw up her hands in outrage. "You want him to go with Vult? But I-"

"Master Shannegh came here hunting a… a _fiend_ " Celestine interjected, smoothly quieting her mercenary friend with a stern frown. "It is his belief the fiend will be met along the path to the Black Fortress. He is to accompany you, Vult, until he sees fit."

"Thought you didn't fight for coin." Tossing the man a sidelong stare, Vult shrugged his massive shoulders, but conceded. "That's fine by me. It'd be good to have a sword arm like his about."

"He will accompany you as my representative" Celestine stated. "I will repay any expenses he may incur, and claim responsibility for his actions while in your company. Does that please you?"

That raised an eyebrow from both Vult and Louk Shannegh. The latter cocked his head to the side, regarding her intensely, eyes narrowing to slits as he mulled over her bold proposal. His reticence to confirm her suggestion was all the reply she needed that he would not abuse that trust. Glancing over the the mercenary general, Louk Shannegh snapped his finger and stuck his thumb up. A symbol of acknowledgment perhaps where he was from.

"Guess I can show you how a real army fights" Vult cackled. He drained the last of his wine and slammed the glass on the table. "Reaper's on our side, then. The Dark Queen is going to have a hell of a surprise when we come knocking down her door."

 **-v-**

Two days passed with blinding speed. For most of it, he remained out of the way, avoiding the Seven Shields commanders, particularly the one called Maia. Her seething rage at being left behind could not be misread, and the glaring fury she eyed him with indicated he would do well to avoid speaking with her. That was easy enough to do, providing her stayed away from the barracks and Vult's Black Dogs. The redheaded mercenary clung to the general's presence, a leech on his side for want of holding the man's attention.

To each their own, he supposed.

There was little to do elsewise. He neither cared nor desired to occupy Celestine Lucross' time. The woman had done enough for him, and she had her own issues to deal with. The constant stream of nobles and officials requesting her presence reminded him of a different time, when that had been his life. One of constant requests and bickering voices. He was glad to be rid of it.

Instead, he occupied himself with a more useful, industrious means of passing time. The White Citadel had a thorough library, quite expansive even for a land as small as this. Knowledge was power, and he fully intended to arm himself to the best of his ability, to seek out anything and everything he could use to his advantage. There was much to learn, however little it aided his true goal. The world of Eostia had a good deal of scholars in it. He studied their history, their culture. Anything and everything that he could learn in two days. Most of all, though, he studied this Goddess Reborn, and her Seven Shields. That, and the business with the Dark Queen Olga Discordia. The whole thing was a mystery to him. Elves, Dark Elves, halflings. Magic spells and sorcery utterly unlike the powers drawn from the Warp. This place was so naively innocent, so unprepared for the horrors that lurked in the shadows. A single regiment of Guardsmen could overrun the world in a week, he acknowledged. Then again, swords versus lasguns was hardly a fair fight.

It was on his second day that he entertained a visitor. Or, to put it more accurately, a visitor entertained him.

"It's not true, you know" the quiet, knowledgeable voice said.

Louk glanced up from the book, one of many volumes from the self-described historian Sir John Mandeville, some bigwig aristocrat from Geofu. It had been a dry read as it was, with long passages of little more than idle speculation interrupted by personal anecdotes that held as much weight as Louk's own opinion on the matter. Better to read it all than be choosey, he had told himself. Perhaps that had been a bad plan.

The one who had interrupted him stood at the exit from the aisle that held financial records and merchant contracts. A noble, by the look of him, wearing a simple brown shirt and a shapeless hat. His face was weathered, beaten like a man whose life had been drawn too long, with premature white hair and a short mustache of black, his true coloring no doubt. Well-used spectacles hung from his collar, and he inclined his head in greeting, posture stiff but informal.

"Klaus Levantine" he introduced. Approaching the table, the scholar peered over the pile of books Louk had assembled. "You are quite the reader, it appears. My wife told me you arrived in Ken just three days ago."

"You are Claudia's husband." Louk closed the volume and put it in the finished pile. Grabbing the next without hesitation, he spent a moment inspecting the cover. "It was a dry read anyways. The man doesn't know how to hold a paragraph."

"Some men are destined to write history, others are destined to make it" Klaus mused. "Claudia informed me that you are to accompany Vult to the north. I wish you a safe journey."

"I doubt an invasion could be considered safe" Louk replied. Letting the book rest for now, he straightened up and cracked his back. "Throne, what time is it?"

"Not long until the Goddess is holding supper. Will you be attending?"

"I haven't been asked." He gave himself a long minute to study this scholar. The nobleman did not miss his attention.

"You are a stranger here" Klaus assured him, "so I suppose you would not know. Any who bear Celestine's approval may join her at supper. She encourages an open meal for those who desire it. It is another way for her to stay connected to her people." Sighing quietly, Klaus eased into one of the chairs. The man moved stiffly, as if battling age that he should not have suffered from this young in his life. "I am sure you want to ask, so please, go ahead."

"Fell from a horse" Louk guessed.

"I wish it were so exciting" Klaus replied. "No, I fell ill in my youth. The doctors never discovered the cause of it, and by the time they found a treatment, it had left its mark. My muscles atrophied during my illness, and ever since they have not recovered. How old do you think I am?"

"As old as Claudia, I would presume." Louk shrugged. In honesty, the man appeared a dozen years older than the commander of the Dawn Templars, if he were being generous.

"You are a true gentleman" Klaus laughed, weak and shallow. "No, my friend. I am four years older than my wife, though many guess a decade or more her elder."

"Ah." He opened the book's cover. _Elves, High and Dark_ _, by Nazare Muhad_. The interior cover was a sketched portrait of two women, both voluptuous and naked, arms wrapped around each other to strategically cover their intimate places. The shading on the one indicated cleary which was supposed to be the dark elf. The artistry was… imaginative.

"May I ask a question" Klaus prodded. Louk nodded absently, flipping to the next page, where the book truly began. "What is that, on your sword?"

His hand stretched out to indicate the housing for the power cell. Louk glanced down at the weapon, then tucked the edge of his jacket forwards to obscure the blade. "It's hard to explain. Perhaps when I return, I can tell you."

The nobleman accepted his answer graciously.

"Now, I have a question for you" Louk countered.

"Please."

"Are you here by chance or are you spying on me?"

The bluntness of the question did not give the nobleman pause. A frail chuckle was his reply, and Klaus held his hands up in mock surrender.

"You have me dead to rights, I suppose. It is true, my wife and her comrades are unnerved by your presence. You are an enigma, and Claudia certainly does not like being at a disadvantage. Though, here I happened upon you and my curiosity got the better of me. Is that a sufficient answer?"

"It is" Louk answered. "Is your curiosity satisfied?"

"For now." Klaus pulled himself to his feet and doffed his cap. "Thank you for your time, Reaper."

 **-v-**

The Black Dogs had assembled outside the capitol, their tents stretching all along the city's white walls like a field of multicolored flowers amidst the plains. Eight thousand men, armed and armored for war, waiting on the order of their general. Three thousand spearmen, two thousand swordsmen, fifteen hundred archers, a thousand horsemen, and five hundred specialists, scouts, and mages. It was a fearsome force, Claudia admitted. It dwarfed her six hundred Dawn Templars, and this was but a fraction of Vult's command. Truly, the charisma with which he led was a thing of wonder.

Standing on the ramparts, Claudia had arrayed herself in her full panoply of war. Masterfully wrought plates of lightened steel covered her from throat to toe, light enough for horse riding, but sturdy enough to withstand the weight of an orc's strength, it had protected her across dozens of engagements. She trusted the winged pauldrons and engraved steel with her life, as she trusted its unique design to serve as a rally banner in the midst of the chaos of battle. The Black Dogs called her the Valkyrie for her appearance and ferocity in battle; she was one of the few non-Black Dogs commanders that Vult allowed to lead his troops in war.

Now, with a dozen of her Templars in formation behind her, the place at her left reserved for Celestine to bless the ensemble, Claudia waited patiently, and calculated. It was a nerveless tic, a symptom of her restless mind and perfected training. Six hundred Templars, and the city's guard, against eight thousand Black Dogs. They would hold the gate for four hours, at the most, inflicting two thousand casualties on the attackers. By then more than half of her Templars would be dead, and most of the city guard. From there, a fighting retreat to the White Citadel. Merchant guards and noble retinues would slow the invaders for two hours at the most, giving her time to prepare the final defenses. Five thousand more Black Dogs would fall assaulting the White Citadel. That left a thousand before she would run out of warriors.

She thanked the gods that Vult would never turn on them.

Her second snapped to attention, armored boots clacking together. A half-breath later, the rest of her command did likewise. Their precision was a tribute to her training regimen, to the high standard they held themselves to in honor of their position in Eostia's most elite cadre. Her Templars were, in her humble opinion, the most well-trained force in existence. Even Vult bowed to their peerless skill, whether at formations or in individual combat. He had confided in her once, on a late night of planning against the Dark Queen's legion, that he could beat any one of them without breaking a sweat. Two would make him work for the victory. Three would see even him on his knees. That admission was the vindication of every drop of sweat she poured into perfecting her warriors.

Now those warriors had earned the honor of being the Goddess' honor guard on the eve of this great undertaking. Turning from her view of the Black Dogs, their ranks smooth and unmoving, she bowed low to the approaching high elf. Celestine positively radiated serenity today, though Claudia knew the disquiet had weighed on her ever since her vision. It was a hard thing, to send so many to war. An incursion to Garan would not be without heavy casualties. Claudia was grateful for the Black Dogs to shoulder the burden, even as she prayed for their victory.

"Goddess" she greeted, before lifting her shoulders and stepping to the side.

Her Goddess smiled up at her. "Claudia, you look well today. How is Klaus?"

"Well, your grace."

Celestine Lucross stepped up to the parapet, gazing down at the Black Dogs. A trace of sorrow eased across her face for a moment, then vanished behind her smooth smile, an uplifting expression that stretched across the mercenaries like a soft breeze on a hot day.

"They are brave" was her only comment.

"Indeed they are" a boisterous voice called out. Vult strode through the ranks of Templars, with Louk Shannegh close on his heels. The two made an odd pair: the loud giant of a mercenary general alongside the quiet, prowling stranger. To her trained eye, Claudia knew at a glance that they were a well-formed pair. Vult's strength and Louk's speed could conquer entire companies.

She was curious to see how this pairing would turn out.

Celestine smiled at them both, and offered them a place beside her. Now that they had arrived, it was time to finalize the job and send off the army. Vult joined her without hesitation, eager to discuss the last particulars of their contract. Less eager for the attention of so many, Louk Shannegh detached from the mercenary general and joined Claudia. A sharp rise of his head revealed the dark gaze of the man, and Claudia grimaced at his attention. She would be glad to be rid of that.

"Knight Levantine" he greeted, his flat tone offering no warmth to his greeting.

"Reaper. Did that archives entertain your curiosity?"

"For now. I met your husband, in the archives." The mystery man crossed his arms over his chest, angling his body so he could watch Celestine while holding the conversation. The goddess was speaking to the Black Dogs now, offering a suitable speech praising their courage and promising her gratitude for their deeds. It was a kind of speech she had given many times. Each time, Celestine's heart broke for those who would not return. The commander of the Dawn Templars prayed that this would be the last.

"Did you now?" Claudia felt the subtle quickening of her pulse, the instinctive reaction to such comments already rising. The endless defense of her husband did not shame her, but she was always ready to fight for his honor.

"He is a good man."

"Yes, he is" she stated, the tension easing as quickly as it had appeared.

"He loves you dearly."

She did not reply. Uncertain of what he was getting at, she held her silence, and waited for him to continue. When he said nothing further, she pushed the conversation from her mind. Her Goddess' speech was short, and already ending. Once Vult had her signature, the mercenaries would set forth. A simple process, and one that Claudia had overseen many times. Offering a respectful bow, the mercenary accepted her contract and turned on his heel, clearly holding himself back from rushing to the stairs to join his men. His blood was hot for battle now, Claudia thought to herself. Had their foes been human, she would have felt sorry for them.

"Master Shannegh, if you please" Celestine beckoned for him to step forward. He did, and Claudia gave her Goddess a questioning stare that did not go unnoticed by her subordinates. This was not planned, whatever it was. "Please, kneel if you would be so kind."

"No…" Claudia breathed, more out of amazement than denial. The realization struck her like a light slap, but the knight commander held her place, a jagged tension rushing up to her jaw as Reaper stooped to one knee, eyeing the Goddess with the unashamed curiosity of a man who did not know his place.

"Claudia, your sword."

Her Goddess beckoned, and Claudia was loathe to deny her. Grudgingly, the lady of House Levantine drew her sword from its scabbard and offered it to her Goddess. A pang of indignation snatched at her heart for a moment, but she forced it down. How could she not have been informed of this beforehand? Certainly, this man's arrival had put them all on the wrong foot, but this was something that Celestine had always confided with her.

"Master Shannegh, Reaper." Celestine lowered the blade to rest on the man's shoulder. His body coiled underneath his clothes, an instinctive reaction to the presence of a blade so close to throat. Claudia's jaw tightened again, and she wondered if she could intercept should the man take a swing at her Goddess. No, not with the speed she had seen in the barracks. Celestine would be dead before she closed the distance. "You are setting out in my name, under my banner, to accompany Vult and his Black Dogs into the wastelands. I cannot send you out as you are, a man with no professed loyalty or claims of service. To speak with my authority, you must have my authority. To that end, I must ask you now: Do you pledge your life in service of the Goddess Reborn, to uphold her honor and battle in her name, until such a time as you are released from service by her decree or by death?"

Celestine's expectant smile signalled the man to respond. The man's slowness to answer stoked the irritation settling in Claudia's gut. Few had the honor of the Goddess' counsel, much less the opportunity she offered now. For god's sake, she presented the man with knighthood, and he remained silent, his expression masked with thought but offering nothing.

Claudia was quickly growing to despise Louk Shannegh.

"I swear it" he answered, his voice so low the assembled party barely heard it. The sword lifted and touched down on his other shoulder.

"Do you swear to serve the people of Eostia, to protect them from the predations of monsters and villains? And do you swear to bear the name of the Goddess as your own, to follow her teachings and pursue her interests as if they were your own?"

"I swear it."

His answer came faster this time, smooth and easy, full of confidence. Her Goddess lifted the sword away, holding it upright, and reached out to place her hand on his head. He obliged her by drawing his hood back, bringing his handsome, haunted face to light.

"And do you swear-" the Goddess paused, lips parted, the words hanging breathlessly in the air. A sudden, powerful sigh poured like oil from her lips, as if an icy chill had swept over her alone. The sword clattered to the rampart floor. Celestine staggered, her whole body sagging forwards, eyes growy bleary and distant. Claudia crossed the distance between them in the span of three frantic heartbeats, a silent cry on her lips as her Goddess teetered. The horror was still crossing the faces of her knights, their reactions slowed by shock.

Reaper leapt to his feet, flowing upwards like a cat leaping for a butterfly, and caught the Goddess. His right arm swept around her waist, supporting her weight, and the other caught her under the shoulder, propping her on her feet. Her head landed in the crook of his neck, the muscles in her body going limp. For a terrifying moment, Claudia feared for her Goddess' safety. The man had his hands around her; it would take a single moment of betrayal, and Claudia would be unable to protect her.

She grabbed the man by his shoulder, aiming to wrench his grasp away, to clear a line to her liege. A soft moan stopped her cold, Celestine's pained cry stopping her as surely as a blast of ice magic. Her Goddess' pale white hand gripped the man's sleeves, her body quivered fitfully. Then she pulled back, startled, the color returning to her ivory tone.

"You…" the Goddess gasped, her expression rigid with terror. "What…"

Falling silent, Celestine shuddered again, then looked down. Her fingers were curled tight into his clothes, and she released him as if stung. Taking a careful step back, she smoothed her robes, a crimson blush blooming on her cheeks. Claudia hastily stepped between them, stooping to pick up her sword, which remained pointedly out of its scabbard.

"My lady" Claudia asked, "are you well?"

"It was a… a vision." Her voice was hoarse, weak. "Water, please."

"Got something better for that" the man cut off Claudia's order to her knights. Reaching into his jacket, not minding the sudden rush of blades that drew and pointed in his direction, he drew a small flask and extended it in offering. When Claudia's glare indicated her mistrust, he unscrewed the lid and took a sip. "Whiskey."

"Give it to me" Claudia ordered. She snatched it from his hand and sniffed. It smelled as it should. Tipping the end, she allowed a few drops onto her tongue for taste. Nothing out of the ordinary. It tasted like it had come from one of the barrels in the White Citadel's cellar. Satisfied, she handed it over to her Goddess.

"Do not play the innocent with me, Reaper." Her stern command had no effect on the man. "What did she see? You know it."

"She saw…" he spread that wicked grin across his face that gave even the most stouthearted an unearthly chill. It was a mask, she realized. The whole of the man: his expressions, his posture, the very breath from his lungs. It was all a mask. A ghastly, grotesque mask for something dark and evil. Her skin prickled in anticipation, adrenaline flowing back into her veins. "Things that no mortal should ever have to see."

Claudia bit back her snarl and lifted her sword, signalling the other Dawn Templars. This man was a threat, she decided, right at this instant. He was dangerous, and she would not allow him in her Goddess' presence. Her knights responded with textbook efficiency, dropping into battle stances, their weapons and shields brought to bear. He stood before her with no weapons. She knew that she could take him down.

"No, Claudia." Her high elf friend wrapped her slim hands around the knight commander's armored gauntlet and pulled it down to her side. "He is not our enemy."

"You cannot know that" Claudia argued, refusing to turn away from the man, standing unafraid before her in the face of a dozen of her knights. "What did you see, my lady?"

"I saw terror" Celestine answered. Her voice flowed with conviction, weak as it was. "Terror, violence, and the world drowned in blood. But it was not Reaper that caused it. He stood between us and the tide."

"That does not make any sense" Claudia insisted. "We are about to end this war."

"That is your first mistake" Reaper stated. He shook his head solemnly. "There is only war. This one may end, but another will rise in its place."

"Do you doubt our victory?"

"I doubt nothing. I have seen more war than you could imagine, Knight." The darkness wept from his scowl. His anger spread like a shadow, drowning the sun's light around them. Her Dawn Templars exchanged nervous glances, unsettled by his tone and the surety with which he spoke.

"Please, we are friends." Celestine stepped between them, placing a hand on each one's chest. Pushing gently, she eased Claudia back a pace. "I apologize, dear Claudia. I did not intend to cause you distress. The vision, it overwhelmed me for a moment. I trust this man. Put your swords away, all of you. He is a knight of the kingdom now, though name be the extent of it until he returns."

Claudia grumbled, reluctantly sheathing her sword.

"I apologize, Master Shannegh." Her glare did not waver, and the man accepted it with a mocking bow. "My temper got the better of me. It will not happen again."

"Master Shannegh." Celestine held out her hand. "The moment is ruined, I fear, but I must ask you the final question. Do you swear to lay down your life for the Goddess, for the Seven Shields, and for those they protect?"

The man's false smile faded, expression growing grim with an intensity that Claudia had not expected. Taking the high elf's hand, Louk Shannegh bent and kissed her knuckles; the movement struck Claudia as strangely intimate, but fitting. Her teeth ground together as the man released her Goddess' hand and retreated a step.

"I will destroy your enemies, Celestine Lucross, and I will protect your people with my life. Louk Shannegh, the Reaper, will fight in your name."

"Then go," Celestine ordered. "And bring Olga Discordia to me so that this war might end."


	5. Enemy at the Gates

**Author's Notes: And so, the prologue of the story has ended, and now the true story begins.**

 **Reviewers-**  
 **JauneBrando-kudos again for pointing out the bold thing. For those that have the same problem, it is a formatting issue on mobile-site format via phones. if you switch to desktop mode it goes away. Not sure how/why it happens.**  
 **clonetrooper29- The Reaper doesn't go after Lambs. That's not a challenge. As for that line, you know I had to put it in somewhere.**  
 **sonic- Glad you liked it!**  
 **Abdiel Amaro- While this is technically a separate reality from the Warhammer-verse, I spent some time researching pre-Imperium civilizations and how the Chaos Gods had more subtle hands in some of them. One of my friends told me about a planet (forgot the name) where Khorne was the God of Justice, because Khorne demands honorable kills, deaths, etc... That was part of the premise of this world being literally innocent. Apart from the 'demons,' it is largely naive and utterly unprepared for the crapfest that is about to be unleashed. that would also explain the lack of clothes on all the ladies, but I am writing that into more realistic wardrobes anyways.  
Sociopathic Anarchist- Yeah, Luu-Luu is cringey in original. Warp incursions will be seen, but not tides of daemons. For the formatting, this is the one spot in the story where that will happen, merely because it is the 'generic character intro scene.' I hate writing blocks that long without breaks.  
TakanaMakana- Well, Louk ain't a diehard Emperor lover, but swearing an oath of loyalty when his goal is literally to leave this place as soon as possible... Yeah, Vult's original empire is pretty darn tame compared to a good old Slaaneshy gangbang.  
SomeGuyOverHere- Claudia and Eulogy do share a bit of an attitude, but Claudia is a more mature person by far. She's more motherly than Eulogy, but otherwise they are going to be familiar. As far as Louk's relationship with the girls, it will all change over time (note: this is not a legally binding statement) but he isn't supposed to be a nice guy. This is Louk a while after *spoiler* happens. When he's really wrestling with his new reality as a *spoiler* for the *spoiler* *spoiler* of *spoiler*.  
StaffSergeant- meh, most every author is their own worst critic. I love your story. Haven't posted a review on it only because I am a terrible reviewer and never know what to say. Will try to write a review soon of my thoughts on your story so far. Btw, LOVE the goon squad. They are adorable.  
snoogenz- Well, war is always bloody, no matter who is involved. But there is certainly going to be some Khornate spillover, though I cannot tell you exactly how/why unless you go read That Which Is Forbidden (40k, M-rating, 300,000+ words for easy filter search). Then it will make sense.**

Have fun!

* * *

 **Garan Wastes**

 _Battle of Breaking Dawn, 7th of Ides, Year 96 of the Dark Queen's War_

 _Allied forces under the command of Claudia Levantine, The Second Shield, deployed to the borders of Rad in the face of a colossal incursion by the Dark Queen's Legion. Knight Levantine deployed at the edge of the mountains, facing the horde with a numerically much smaller force. Battle joined the morning of the 7th of Ides, lasting until dusk. The allied forces held the line until a reinforcing army led by Mercenary General Vult of the Black Dogs arrived and attacked the legion in their undefended flank._

 _Despite the ferocity of the fighting, Knight Levantine's forces suffered remarkably few casualties over the course of the battle. The majority of allied casualties were incurred during the charge of Vult's Black Dogs mercenaries into the legion's flank. Knight Levantine praised the discipline of her command for the lack of casualties, as well as pointing to the rampant confusion and uncertainty that the legion displayed in the face of such discipline._

 _ **Notables** -_

 _Claudia Levantine, Second Shield_

 _Maia, Fourth Shield_

 _Vult, Black Dogs commander_

 _ **Allied Losses** -_

 _Five thousand, eight hundred twelve mercenaries_

 _Fifty four Dawn Templars_

 _Thirty two Holy Iris Chivalric Order_

 _Six hundred halflings_

 _One thousand seventy five soldiers of Eostia_

 ** _Legion Losses-_**

 _Thirty one thousand_

Louk closed the book, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes with his free hand. Celestine had been kind enough to allow him a few books from her archives for this journey. It helped pass the time, even though the writing he had found generally had little to offer. The curse of a one-sided war was that the information available was incredibly biased and lacking in context. Every battle written as an astounding victory, against all odds. Every campaign one of heroism and miraculous victory.

Opening it again, he flipped to no page in particular.

 _Battle of Morning Rain, 23rd of Aun, Year 90 of the Dark Queen's War_

 _The Holy Iris Chivalric Order intercepted a legion warband of significant size crossing near the border of Feoh and Ur. Led by Janus Arcturus, the Fifth Shield, the knights of Feoh caught the warband on an open plain, where battle joined as successive charges by the knights shattered the warband into retreat._

 _Lady Janus Arcturus, Fifth Shield, was slain by the warband's leader, an ogre of prodigious size, when the warband launched an ambush from the treeline into the frontrunners of the Holy Iris Chivalric Order forces. The knights were scattered, risking total annihilation, when a sudden panic swept over the warband, and their momentum was stymied. Janus Arcturus' daughter, Alicia Arcturus, rallied the remaining knights and faced the ambush. Her determination and bravery saw the warband shattered and its survivors hunted down and exterminated to the last._

 ** _Notables-_**

 _Janus Arcturus, former Fifth Shield_

 _Alicia Arcturus, daughter of Janus Arcturus_

 ** _Holy Order Losses-_**

 _Eighty knights of the Holy Iris Chivalric Order_

 _Janus Arcturus, Fifth Shield_

 ** _Legion Losses-_**

 _Five thousand_

There was a glaring pattern to all of their tales. Wars did not favor the side of 'good.' Yet every battle reported a combination of: insignificant casualties, confusion in the ranks of the legion, miraculous arrivals of reinforcements that should have been far away. The authors of dozens of books had unspokenly agreed that the matter was to be expected. When the forces of good fought against evil, good will always prevail. That was how they understood existence.

They were so despicably foolish he did not know whether to be angry or amused.

The soft scrape of boots on the cracked earth alerted him to the approach of another. Closing the book for good, he tucked it into his pack and stood. His lower back protested, but he shook off the soreness and turned to face the interloper.

Kin. Vult's left hand and the overall commander of the mage corps within the Black Dogs. Their magic confused him. It was supernatural, and it certainly drew power from beyond the physics of the mortal realm. But it lacked any and all taint of the Warp. These mages could practice freely with little danger from the daemons of the Immaterium. It was a small price to pay for their lesser strength and power. The Imperium could benefit handily from men and women that summoned elemental fire without the risk of being consumed by monsters.

"Standing on watch again, Reaper?" Kin chuckled to himself, laughing at a joke that Louk neither understood nor cared to discover.

"I like the quiet."

"Ah, yes. It is good to be away from the sounds of the camp." The mage straightened his glasses. "We have not made full acquaintance yet. I thought it best I say hello before tomorrow's battle."

Louk nodded, casting his gaze out over the plains. In the distance, the Black Fortress rose like an ugly monument over the blasted wastelands. A sprawling camp clustered about its walls, this worlds' demon legion. It seemed so small and insignificant, except that he had an even smaller force at his back. Barely forty thousand in that camp, he guessed. Forty thousand versus twenty thousand.

This would be the first real battle they had encountered. For a week and a half now, the army had advanced, pushing cautiously into the wastes, keeping in good discipline and formation lest an ambush arise. To date, they had only a half-dozen encounters with orcs, and those had been skirmishes of small bands stumbling into the Black Dogs' column. Each battle had been short and vicious. The demons were dull-witted and slow to respond, but even they knew when they were hopelessly outmatched. And with every day, reinforcements reached the column, mostly companies of horsemen riding hard to reach their general before real battle could begin. With the daily additions, the ranks of the Black Dogs army had swelled to twelve thousand.

The primary legion of demons had not revealed itself until now. Louk was beginning to realize why, though he had not shared his theory with Vult. The mercenary general was a robust and talkative man, entertaining all sorts of theories, and while certainly intelligent he lacked the outsider perspective. Louk knew they would not understand it. He almost did not himself. Only his past knowledge helped him put these pieces together, and that was with a great deal hidden behind the curtain that he could only make assumptions of.

But now they were here. Thirty thousand or more demons, arrayed in cacophonous splendor, ringing the Black Fortress. Almost as if they were in siege lines. Vult had looked upon the lot and declared them waiting for battle, withdrawn to the shadows of the fortress for protection. The demons were so scared of them, Vult had assured his men, that they fled for the Dark Queen's protection.

He was so incredibly wrong that Louk had walked away from the speech.

This was not the legion. This was not even a fraction of its size.

"They're a fearsome lot" Kin murmured with a drawn out sigh. "It will be quite the battle tomorrow."

"Yes." Louk drew his gaze back to the Black Dogs' camp. "It takes brave men to assault a force twice their size."

"The Black Dogs are the best of the best" Kin crowed. "We've been killing these monsters for decades."

"Your confidence is inspired. And what will the mages be doing in this battle?"

"Well, a bit of everything, really. The artillery mages, I coined that term you know, will be targeting the thickest clusters and leaders. Once those are gone, the rest will be a simple matter of charnel work. And my shield mages, also my term, will imbue our lines, strengthen our fighters. Those that don't understand the complexities of magic might think it all confusion and chaos, but my men know their jobs. There is an elegance to our work, even in the variety of forms in which is manifests."

"And you?"

"I will be at Vult's side" Kin assured Louk. "He always leads the vanguard, but even with his sword skills he needs a mage to keep him alive."

"You think quite highly of yourself" Louk mused.

"Well, I am the most powerful mage in the Black Dogs" Kin boasted. "Outside of the Lady Celestine and the Dark Queen, they say I am the most powerful in Eostia."

"Your humility leaves me breathless." Louk's gruff response earned a laugh from the mage.

"Ah, I try to not let it get to my head. I'm still young. Give it another thirty years and I bet I could rival either of those two. And they've got the advantage of centuries over me, so don't you think I'll let them off easy." The mage cracked his knuckles. "Could you imagine it? Me, the supreme sorcerer? They won't be laughing when I'm the one in charge. I won't have anyone stare down their noses at me, dismiss me like I'm just some puny little kid that can't swing a sword." His tone grew more serious. "I can't wait for the day when I make Claudia Levantine herself bend a knee and beg before me."

Louk shot the man a sidelong stare, digesting the man's words and inspecting them for signs of corruption. The mage's words were not particularly alarming, but there were always layers of unspoken thoughts hidden behind voiced desires. This did not alarm him, he decided. It was mere human desire, nothing sinister.

"She always looks down on me, especially her. Doesn't like mages. Thinks we've got more power than a person should possess." Kin snorted in disdain. "Of course, the Goddess herself is a mage. The most powerful in the lands. Does that bother her? No. But a farm boy that can lay low hordes of the orcs and imps. That is dangerous."

The man's words indignant, offended, but not insidious. After considering Kin's speech, Louk returned his attention to the Black Fortress.

"Where I'm from, _mages_ have it much worse off."

"It's not actually that bad" Kin admitted, shrugging away his aggravation. The knowing smirk returned to his face, an ever-present expression that, in Louk's mind, did little to aid the man's desire to be accepted as a friend and colleague. "The grass is always greener on the other side, yes? I like Knight Levantine. She's a good commander, and just as fierce as Vult in battle. It would be nice if she toned down the mage-hate a bit though."

"It is the nature of all intelligent beings to fear the unknown" Louk stated. "Those that cannot practice do not understand."

"Exactly!" The mage grinned and raised his hand to slap Louk on the back. After a second's hesitation, he decided that was not a good idea and let his arm drop. "You are a man of learning. Definitely did not expect that from someone with your skill of the blade."

"It is possible to have a strong mind and body" Louk replied, ignoring the backhanded compliment. "Though it is rare."

"Then could I trouble you for your thoughts on something?"

Choosing to remain silent, Louk nodded. His eyes narrowed at a ripple of movement deep in the orc camp. For a fleeting second, his eyelid twitched as a banner waved in the wind; a lurid rune sewn into the fluttering fabric above the commander's tent. That was it, then. That was where his prey stood. The fates surely had led him along this path.

"Reaper?"

So intent had he been, he had missed the man's question entirely. Bringing up a hand to rub the mounting pressure from his skull, Louk tore his gaze away from the banner and stared at Kin. The mage blinked owlishly.

"Sorry, could you repeat the question?"

"Reaper" the mage stated simply. "I know the staple answer you hand out when people ask. But I want to know the real reason you cloak yourself in a title, rather than use your own name. Even Vult goes by his name, and he has plenty of more impressive titles to go by. Would you not agree, that one who forces a title on his own name has the lesser respect than a man whose title is forced upon him?"

His answer was cut short by the hulking stomp of the Black Dogs' commander.

"Good gods, man! Can't you leave the philosophy to your mages?" Vult greeted them both with a grin and dropped a heavy hand on Kin's shoulder. "You should rest, Kin. I'll need that mind of yours tomorrow, and there musn't be an ounce of tiredness clouding your thoughts."

"As long as I don't have to wake you up with a bucket of cold water" Kin countered, returning the jab. He bobbed his head respectfully and stepped away. "Have a good night, Reaper. I shall see you in the morning."

The mage trundled off to the camp, leaving Louk alone with Vult. The two men stared at each other for a long minute before the mercenary general let out a yawn.

"Going to be a bloody day tomorrow. I think we'll have them broken by mid-morning, and breach the fortress by midday. Olga Discordia will be our prisoner by dinner time."

"You have high expectations." Louk crossed his arms over his chest and eyed Vult's sword. "Reckon that will find its fair share of heads."

"Where else would I be?" Vult reached up and gripped the blade's hilt. "This ain't much to look at, but she's a beauty to me. Never failed me once. As for my expectations, my Black Dogs know exactly how to break Olga's hordes. Watch and learn tomorrow, Reaper. The Black Dogs will have that fortress by nightfall."

A sudden chill swept across his body. Louk shivered involuntarily, his fingers tightening on his arms. He blinked rapidly, fighting back the surge of adrenaline that burst through his veins in an exploding river. The touch of magic scattered across his skin; unfamiliar magic, untainted by the decadent hand of the Immaterium. Vult did not appear to notice, too engrossed in his study of the demon camp.

"So what have you heard about the Dark Queen?" Vult waved absently in his direction.

"Nothing other than her command of the legion. And that she's a powerful sorceress."

"Yeah, we've all known that though." He snickered. "There isn't anything else you've heard?"

"I assume you'll tell me what I don't know" Louk replied, not joining in the man's laughter. The man clearly was attempting to lead the conversation somewhere. He did not particularly care to find out, but he would not pass the opportunity to learn more.

"Rumor is the Dark Queen is a total babe." Vult leered out over the enemy camp and made a suggestive figure with his hands. "She's been at war with us for a hundred years now. That'd put her right in the middle of her good years. Not that they have bad years, of course. Dark elves always were my cup of tea. That dark skin, black hair, hmm… Bet she's a sight to leave a man panting."

"Is that so" Louk drawled, attempting to picture a dark-skinned Eldar, and failing miserably.

"Eh, it won't matter too much. We'll bust her door down and bring her to Celestine, in chains if we have to…" the man's voice trailed off into a satisfied sigh. Then he sighed, shrugged, and drew his cloak over his shoulder. "Well, we'll see how it goes in the morning. We have to deal with the orcs first, then we can see what the Dark Queen looks like."

"You seem to be quite eager for that."

"A man marches deep into the wastelands, fights a horde of demons, you'd expect him to want to see something nice at the end of it. If she's good enough, might parade her a bit before the men once this whole thing's over. It'd be good for morale."

"You plan on using your prisoner for your men's pleasure?"

"Just a show" Vult assured him. "Not even anything scandalous. Just have her walk through the camp once, maybe. The boys would love to see it, I'm sure. Give them something to think of on the march back."

"Guess they would do that" Louk conceded.

"What, you aren't interested?"

"No."

"Pssh, you just haven't seen a dark elf. Makes sense. They're rare enough, since they all live north of these wastelands. Let me tell you, they're a treat for the eyes." The mercenary general grimaced. "What's with that look?"

"Lady Celestine and the others think highly of you" Louk answered. "You show a very different face when they are not around."

"Well, a man's gotta be what a man's gotta be." Vult's massive frame huffed, and he kicked at a loose rock. "They're all gorgeous then, aren't they? Celestine, Claudia, even Maia and Prim. Let me tell you, any full-blooded man can't sit more than a bit around them without having all his blood rushing to the wrong head. That's all it is, though. I'm not fool enough to think I'd ever have a real shot at one of the Seven Shields. Hell, none of us would. We're just a band of damned mercenaries. They're princesses, nobles, and such. Almost makes it easier, knowing there's not a chance in hell with them. Let's me ignore 'em. But that doesn't mean I don't get stiff when they strut about, passing out orders and wearing their fancy clothes. When they're about, you can be sure I'm on my best behavior. But I ain't a eunuch. My blood runs just as hot as any man's."

"So what will you do once this ends? Once the Dark Queen is taken back to Ken?"

"Dunno." Some of the energy slipped from the man's shoulders. Vult scratched his jaw. "It isn't going to truly be over, is it? We take Olga out of the picture, but that doesn't mean the demons are going to roll over and die for us. The legion'll fracture, but that just means more warbands. I expect we'll be just as busy as before. Instead of having concentrated invasions, we'll just have dozens of small raids. I was thinking of splitting the Black Dogs into seven companies, one for each region. Celestine would keep us on retainer, I'm sure of it."

"So you'll live your life fighting until you die?"

"Me? Nah. I'd rather put my sword up once the big war is over. Fighting's good and all, but I'm not as young as I'd like to think. The body can only take so much punishment before it needs a break."

"Retire, then? And do what?"

"Farm, I guess." He held out his hands. "Get a big lot, enough to grow a few different things. Have some horses, find a woman worth keeping."

"I imagine a man like yourself would have many options for a wife."

"Yeah," Vult chuckled darkly. "But you could say my standards have been raised pretty damn high thanks to being around the Shields so much. It's a rare woman that turns my head these days. The best of them are all taken, or… unavailable."

"Prim likes you."

Vult's laugher grew louder, more full and rich. For all the laughter and cheer he had shown earlier, back in Ken, this would sounded the most real. And the least happy.

"Prim? She's a princess! She could never marry a commoner like me. Besides, she's basically a child."

"Maybe if you chose to look at her with a bit more scrutiny, you'd see she has blossomed to quite a ripe flower."

"Hey, now." Vult's mirth vanished in an instant, his expression growing dark and dangerous. "I don't like the way you're talking about Prim."

"I can assure you, I am hardly interested in her." Louk ignored the man's glowering stare. "Her making eyes at you is hard to not notice."

"Prim's just a kid" Vult growled. "Maybe she's got a thing for me, but she'll grow out of it. She deserves a hell of a lot better than me, that's for sure."

"What about Maia, then? That one would jump off a cliff if you asked her to."

"Maia…" Vult's hard edge wavered, growing tired and uncertain. "She's a good woman. Strong, fearless, headstrong. Haven't given her much thought, like that. Shit, I've known her since my early mercenary years. Pulled her out of the fire, so to speak. She was just a kid then, younger than Prim. I put her on the path of the mercenary."

The man's voice trailed off, lost in thought. A contemplative frown carved itself across his strong jaw, and Vult let out a series of slow, meditative sighs.

"You aren't used to people being so blunt" Louk observed. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"Nah." Vult shrugged his massive shoulders. "It's a bit refreshing, actually. Most men, or women, can't hold a straight conversation with me because of who I am. Just wish you had come along sooner. Caught me five years ago, and maybe I would have been intemperate enough to get riled by your questions, or been foolish enough to follow them. Point of it, really, is that I've got too much blood on my hands for any of the Shields. They're good people. I'm not."

This time, Louk responded with an approving nod. "That we can agree on. We're men of blood, Vult. Believe me, I've tried to step away from it. Once it gets its claws in you… you can't turn away."

"There's always got to be a first" Vult insisted. "You'll see. Once we bring Olga back, I'll get this whole mess sorted out, drop command off to my best, and spend the rest of my days shovelling horse shit and making little Vult's on a farm." The mercenary general let out a last, faded laugh, and turned back to the camp. "Best get some sleep, Reaper. You'll need all your energy in the morning."

Louk did not take Vult up on the invitation. Choosing to remain on watch, he sat back down and pulled out the book.

 _Battle of Whispers, 29th of Ides, Year 3 of the Dark Queen's War_

 _Acting on behalf of a vision received by Celestine Lucross, the Goddess Reborn, an allied army led by Kiiro Utake the Second Shield and Knik-Knok the halfing warmaster ambushed the vanguard of the Dark Queen's legion. Catching the legion as it attempted to pass through a treacherous gorge, the allied army slaughtered tens of thousands of demons by collapsing the gorge on the unsuspecting army below._

 _The Battle of Whispers was the first occasion in which the Goddess Reborn's visions translated directly into military victory. Without her vision, the Dark Queen's legion might have slipped into Eostia without notice. The surprising level of secrecy and stealth with which the legion marched caught all by surprise. Truly, without the Goddess' aid, Rad would have fallen._

 ** _Notables-_**

 _Kiiro Utake, Second Shield_

 _Knik-Knok, Warmaster_

 ** _Allied Losses-_**

 _three soldiers of Thorn_

 ** _Legion Losses-_**

 _thirty thousand_

Louk read the report again, closed the book, and chuckled softly.

He had no doubts now.

 **-v-**

The Black Dogs' battle lines combined the pageantry of war with the cold hard steel of disciplined soldiery. Banners denoting companies and platoons fluttered above their respective units. Shieldbearers stood in perfect rows, their massive tower shields resting on the ground. Lines of archers planted ready arrows at their feet, or carried bundles slung over their shoulders for depositing once final lines were made. Riders raced back and forth behind the lines, passing orders about and ensuring the whole army had the correct plan. Everything moved like clockwork. The Black Dogs were a well-oiled, professional machine.

For the scale of it, Louk was impressed.

He sat on a horse now, riding a black stallion Vult had gifted to him for the battle. _Odin_ , it was called. The origin of the name meant nothing to him, but he knew the animal's strength and willpower. It fairly crackled with energy, snorting and pawing at the ground, eager to be let loose to run fast and far into the foe. That it accepted him was a point in its favor. Most animals disliked him, sensing the darkness inside. This one did not care. He knew that. His limited understanding of animals told him that Odin was a powerful beast. It valued and sought power. It would serve him well. Perhaps he would ask to keep Odin after the battle.

"It's a fine day to die" Vult called out, his voice carrying over the ranks of his men. "Just make sure it's _their_ day to die."

The Black Dogs jeered loudly, hooting and hollering at the foe across the way. The orc lines had drawn in mass, a shapeless horde of monsters and demons that dwarfed the Black Dogs smaller force, but showed all the signs of a fractured, uncertain army. If they could be broken, the battle would be over in minutes. Louk wondered if the Black Dogs could break them before they were overwhelmed.

"You seem disgruntled" Vult said, lowering his voice to a conversational level. "Didn't sleep last night?"

"I slept."

"Not been in a big battle before?"

A derisive snort was the mercenary general's reply. Unperturbed by the callous answer, Vult merely lifted his hand and gestured to his bodyguard. The Kuroinu, his closest were called. A hundred of the best warriors of the Black Dogs, trained under the close watch of Vult himself. They accompanied him into every battle, both protecting their general and slaying those that got in the way of his goal. Casualties were high and constant in the Kuroinu, but none shied away from the honor of being placed among the elite of the Black Dogs.

"I am eager to get this over with" Louk answered. "It's out there."

"You can see it?"

"I can sense it." Louk pointed across the battlefield. "There. At the gates of the Black Fortress."

"Camping in the back?" Vult snickered. "I thought your fiend would be at the front of this mess."

"It is" Louk countered. He had made the observation at early light, that the demons were not only arraying for battle against the Black Dogs, but assaulting the fortress. They lacked siege equipment, but they were doing their damned hardest to break through the forbidding black gate.

"Yeah, we'll kill it soon enough. Just have to deal with thirty thousand of his buddies first." Vult signalled again, and a trumpet blasted the notes for advance. As one, the Black Dogs let loose a single, ferocious shout, and started to march. The tramp of their feet echoed like thunder across the wastes. Following Vult's lead, Louk urged Odin forwards, trailing behind the bulk of the Black Dogs line. The maneuverability of their horses allowed for Vult to travel wherever he felt the need; whether it was to plug a gap or to chase down a particularly vicious foe, Vult would get there with the Kuroinu at his back. Louk knew enough about cavalry tactics to know the psychological terror inspired by a heavy cavalry charge. Having no ranged weapons to blunt the assault made them only that much more powerful.

First blood fell to the Black Dogs. Signalling the army to stop just inside of arrow range, the mercenary front lines planted their tower shields and leaned into the wall, presenting an imposing barrier with swords and spears ready to thrust out and hack apart the foe. Lined up safely behind the warriors, the archers handed off bundles of arrows to the young boys that followed them and began lighting the tinder of their torches. Fire arrows. A good first wave tactic to sow confusion and disorder among the enemy. At Vult's command, an arcing swarm of arrows shot into the sky, lighting up the dawn like a thousand firebugs.

Those firebugs stung the legion's lines, and a thunderous roar rose from the orcs as the demons railed against their assailants. The baying war cries carried across the field like a torrentuous river, drowning the orders of the Black Dogs commanders and limiting hearing to a few good feet. Louk kept his eyes peeled across the demon lines, appreciating Odin's steady nerves as the horse stepped to the side, tossing its head as if offended by the enemy's shouting. "Easy, boy. You'll get in there soon enough."

"This is where the fun starts" Vult shouted, struggling to be heard over the cacophonous shouting. Using a predetermined signal, he ordered the archer commanders to direct their units individually. Some launched more waves of fire arrows, others settled for simple shooting. Two more volleys were in the air by the time the demons started to advance, the horde breaking into a shambling run. Louk watched with approval as whole sections were flattened by concentrated arrow fire. There was a simplistic beauty to this style of fighting. No explosions, no lasers, just sword and board. Where a man's mettle alone determined if he survived the day.

Then the orcs reached a hundred yards from the Black Dogs lines, the artillery mages opened up with their spells. And Louk took back his opinion that this was a feral battlefield.

Arcing balls of fire hurtled past the mercenary lines. Fires of green, red, and yellow smashed into the orcs with the force of battle cannon blasts, wiping dozens of orcs from existence as magical flames or energies consumed them. Near the middle of the line, a flurry of storm clouds sprouted above the human lines. Darkling lights spilled out of the clouds, stabbing like lightning into the demon ranks, hurling bodies this way and that as they gouged great tears through the earth. In another place, thorn bushes poured out from the ground, catching the front runners of the horde and impaling them a score of times on thorns as long as a knife. The momentum of those behind slammed into the bushes, piling the dead on top of each other as those in front were ground into the thorns by those behind.

Kin eased his horse up alongside Louk. Offering a smug chuckle, the mage pointed to the heavens with a thin, black wand that shimmered with coruscating magic. The air split apart where he aimed, and what looked like a shooting star spat through the void, smashing a crater into the depths of the legion and obliterating a swath of ogres.

Hundreds died within moments.

That reminded him of his other life.

"War is a terrible but beautiful thing" Kin sighed, shaking his arm loose as if the act of casting had made him stiff and frail.

"It is easy to find beauty when the enemy isn't spitting down your throat" Louk countered. He thought about the blade on his hip. The power sword would cleave through anything these demons had to offer. But he did not want to play his hand. It knew he was here. Louk did not think it possible he could take it by complete surprise. But he could keep some tricks in his sleeve. For now, he would rely on the weapons Vult had provided.

"To each his own" Kin murmured. "Now do you see, though, why I am so proud of my men?"

The artillery mages continued to send death spewing into the demon lines. It was not enough to stop the horde, but it fractured the front lines, and when the orcs finally reached the Black Dogs it was not an unstoppable horde that struck the shield wall, but waves of individuals and raving madmen. Those could be dealt with.

Even so, Louk grimaced as gaps were torn in the Black Dogs lines almost instantly. As entrenched as the men were, as experienced and prepared as they were, there were few things that could counter the momentum of a several-hundred pound monstrosity. The larger orcs bulled through the shield wall as if it were not there, scattering the shieldbearers left and right, their clubs and blades tearing into the second line before the Black Dogs could respond. Scores of mercenaries fell in those opening moments of chaos, as the orcs rampaged blindly into the mercenary lines before being overwhelmed and slain.

The smaller orcs smashed into the wall, buckling shields but not breaking the line, and then falling as speartips jabbed through the gaps in the shields and brought them down. Still others bounced off the wall completely, losing their footing and stumbling into those behind them. By the time the main body of demons arrived, their charge had dwindled into a dispersed river rather than a roaring rapids. The Black Dogs plugged the gaps in their lines, and the charnel work began.

Impressive discipline, Louk thought to himself. The Black Dogs truly earned their reputation for professionalism. Rather than fight the demons head on, seeking glory and honor in combat, the mercenaries hid behind their massive shields and presented a moving hedge of blades. The shieldbearers clung grimly to their tower shields, and the men behind placed careful thrusts into the gaps as they appeared. The battle more resembled a butcher's workshop than a grand melee. Here and there gaps began to trickle into the Black Dogs lines as shields were thrown down or unexpectedly yanked into the horde. Those caught by surprise were torn limb from limb as their shields were wrenched free.

More shieldbearers were on hand, placed strategically throughout the battle lines to replace those lost, but even with the squads of men throwing themselves into the gaps to buy time for the replacements, every breakthrough cost them more than they could afford. Louk did not bother attempting the math. The Black Dogs were slaying the demons by the hundreds. Archers continued to rain volleys on the back ranks. Mages continued to hurl explosions and death into the mobs. The shield mages sent gusts of wind knocking the orcs backwards, or dropped cooling energies on the mercenaries to heal their weariness and strengthen their bodies. But they were far too outnumbered to win a battle of attrition.

Vult had known that. That was why he waited now, letting the horde draw deeper into the Black Dogs battle line. Ensuring that the demons only looked forwards, to the shield wall. His cavalry had split into two divisions, one on each flank, waiting just behind the hills, near the camp. When the time came, he would send runners, and the cavalry would rush out in a wide arc and come swooping down on the horde from behind. Caught in a pincer, their morale would collapse, and their numbers would turn against them. The Black Dogs had won numerous battles like this before. It had never failed them.

Except this time, the orcs would not break. Louk knew that without having to reason it out. The orcs before him were not mindless, cowardly foes that broke and ran at the sign of danger. Their eyes burned with passion that no creature should hold. Their simmering joy belonged to no earthly spirit. Even as the horde pressed against the Black Dogs, he studied the rear of the horde, watching the flanks hanging back, eyes swivelling for signs of flanking maneuvers.

There was nothing holding these demons back. There was no overriding voice driving them into mindless slaughter. This army was a real threat.

His gaze shifted to the Black Fortress. Tiny, insignificant figures were attempting to scale the walls around the gate. Other little figures battled them on the ramparts. The siege was truly under way. He needed to get there quickly.

"Vult." Louk sent Odin cantering forwards to join the mercenary general.

"What is it, Reaper?"

"I request permission to join Hicks on the flank charge." Louk pulled Odin around, fighting the stallion as it butted against Vult's steed, nostrils flaring for need of battle.

"What, run out of patience already?" Vult grinned, and gave his solemn nod of approval. "It's about time anyways. Tell Hicks to get his lazy ass moving. I want to see those riders tearing orc assholes wide open by the time Kin here gets three more spells in the air."

"Two more" the mage called out, his voice accompanied by the terrible sound of rending earth. A pillar of earth rose on the flank of the Black Dogs, punching orcs high into the air, and fell forwards, burying scores of orcs under its weight. The impact knocked twice as many off their feet, and the resulting barrier funneled them away from the flank and back towards the waiting mercenary blades.

"Show off" Vult muttered.

Louk turned his mount, and set off at a gallop, enjoying the trickle of adrenaline seeping into his veins at the promise of battle.

The cavalry stood waiting, standing beside their horses, weapons sheathed but ready for quick action. Hicks waved Louk over to his position, the man's own lust for battle mirroring those of his men. "Time for some action, then?"

"The legion has engaged" Louk reported. "Vult's orders are to proceed."

"Hear that, boys? Time for glory!" Hicks gestured for his men to mount up. Their movements quickened by anticipation, the Black Dogs leapt onto their horses and eased into formation. Hundreds of cavalry would be hitting the demons from both flanks. Even with a prepared defensive line, the weight of such a charge alone would shatter their lines. Then the real carnage would begin. The trick, Louk had been told, was to keep moving. Charge in, wheel away, and charge again. Once the horse stopped moving, he would be vulnerable.

The fire burned inside him, rearing its head for the promise of skulls and blood.

 **-v-**

"Plug that line!"

Vult brought his blade down in a savage arc, splitting the orc's axe handle, blade burying itself deep into the monster's skull. A shuddering breath left the orc and it toppled to the ground, nearly wrenching the blade free. Ripping his sword out, Vult took a step back and glanced around. His Kuroinu battled around him, pinning the demons in the small breach while more shieldbearers rushed over. A five-man gap. That could spell the end of them if they could not close this. Already twenty men had fallen holding the orcs back. Even as he thrust his sword through the chest of the next orc in line, the right side of the gap began to tear away, the shieldbearers being pushed back by the press of bodies.

This gap was not going to close on it's own.

"Kin, get your damn mages in here!" Vult lunged forward, sliding under a wild sweep by a runt of an orc, and bisected the beast at the waist. Changing his angle on the fly, he brought it up for a breath before hacking down into a second orc, shattering its collar bone and slicing its heart in two. His sword caught, stuck in the orc's chest. Giving the corpse a contemptuous kick, he pushed back and rejoined the line. "Any day now!"

"Magic is not a brute's weapon" Kin complained. Even so, the mage made an arcane gesture and pushed his hands outwards, fingers straight and lined with the opposite hand. Shrieking currents of air ripped over them, nearly unbalancing Vult and sending many Kuroinu stumbling. But the wind caught the demons full on, hurling them to the ground and knocking those in the breach onto their asses. The chaotic pileup that followed as demons stumbled over each other bought a quick breather. Vult let out a roar of exultation, and his Kuroinu rushed to the breach. Spearmen followed close behind, finishing off the winded demons lying on the ground.

"Shields!"

Unwilling to back away until the line was restored, Vult threw his body shoulder-first into the pile of struggling demons. It was like charging a marble wall. He struck thick meat and hundreds of pounds of bone, shoulder groaning in agony as something snapped inside. Other Kuroinu followed his example, slamming into the horde and pushing the pile over itself, spilling bodies deeper into the ranks of the horde, creating a foul up that staggered their momentum.

Shoved aside by the shieldbearers, Vult retreated back behind the line, watching in admiration as his professional mercenaries refilled the empty positions and resumed the bloody work. Had the numbers been more in their favor, this battle would be going well. But he lacked the numbers, to put it simply. Sheer attrition would win in the day, and his infantry would tire longer before the demons did.

On either side of the field, horns sounded. The welcome keening pitches rang in signal to charge, and thousands of cavalry emerged from behind their hidden positions. To the west, Hicks and the mysterious Reaper pushed out and around, aiming to strike the orcs near the rear of their lines. On the other flank, Ulysses had his heavy cavalry charging at an oblique angle, aiming to shatter the whole of the flank and peel away. They lacked the numbers to do a full charge, but repeated harassing charges would break morale and cause more damage than a suicidal full charge.

"Here we go" Vult hollered. "Here comes the cavalry. HOLD THEM BACK!"

"Vult!" Kin grabbed at his arm. The mage had a severe expression on his face. Then again, when did he not once the battle had started? "The archers are running low on arrows. We will be without cover soon."

"Then we'd better kill them fast."

A shieldbearer fell not much further down the line. Before the gap could be plugged, a crowd of imps skittered through, their small blades darting about as they set upon the line. Kin let out a disappointed sigh and aimed his wand. Icy vapors spread from its tip, and a shock of chilled air rippled forwards. The imps caught by the blast were frozen solid. "That isn't much of a plan."

His Black Dogs rushed forwards, but an ogre reached the breach first. The gargantuan beast howled in challenge, glad to have finally reached its enemy, and swung its thick tree trunk in a sweeping arc. A half-dozen men went flying, launched by the beast's immense strength. Vult grimaced, hefted his blade, and charged.

To their credit, his men did not back away from the fight. Three rushed the ogre from the right, two from the left, hacking with their blades in vain attempt to pierce its thick hide. The beast backhanded one, crushing the man to a pulp, and grabbed another with its open hand. Lifting the man high, the ogre bellowed in the Black Dogs' face and hurled him into the horde. A pitiful scream lifted for a moment before the demons tore the man limb from limb.

"Damn you, you bastard" Vult roared. Launching himself into the air, he struck with his sword, cutting a deep scratch down the ogre's side. Recoiling from the unexpected pain, the ogre stumbled into the shieldbearers, flattening several as its club flailed about striking men and demon alike.

"Bring it down" one of his sergeants yelled, gesturing to the archers further back. A hail of arrows plinked into the monster, most bouncing off its hide, but some pricking it like bee stings.

"Hold them back" Vult countered, even as he ducked under the ogre's club and stabbed at its thigh. His sword cut deeply, severing muscle. Before he could leverage his weight to worsen the wound, he had to dodge a kick and retreat out of range. "The line is collapsing. Hold the line!"

Orcs and imps poured through the newly created gap, heedless of the danger the ogre presented, their eagerness for blood overcoming any feral survival instincts. The Black Dogs lined bowed, a dam nearing its breaking point. His Kuroinu threw themselves into the breach, their gleaming blades hacking and slashing through the demons with a fury that stemmed the tide, if only for a few moments. Volleys of arrows began to pelt the gap, launched from nearby archer companies. But those arrows were taken away from other areas in the line, which meant more pressure on the rest of them.

"Die you piece of shit!" Rolling to the side, Vult was nearly lifted off the ground as the earth shook with the impact of the ogre's club smashing into the dirt. Reversing his momentum, Vult leapt back at the beast's arm. His sword cut to the bone, nearly severing its wrist cleanly. Trapped with its hand pinned to the ground, the ogre yelped and grabbed at him, its clumsy movements nearly spilling it onto its belly as its leg gave out. Snatching up a fallen spear, Vult hurled the weapon into the ogre's gaping eye.

Collapsing with a thunderous groan, the ogre fumbled on the ground and died.

Vult breathed heavily, tossed his sword onto his shoulder, and swore. Another ogre stood behind the first, stomping up to the breach faster than they would be able to plug it. Its evil, soulless eyes glowered at Vult as it recognized the one that had slain its kin. Throwing its head back, it took a mighty breath and prepared a fearsome bellow.

The shout never came. A cloaked horseman on a black horse burst through the demon ranks, steel blade flashing left and right through the sea of beasts. The rider's hood had been thrown back, and the terrifying visage of a snarling Reaper etched itself into Vult's memory as if carved by the gods themselves. It was an awful, horrific expression, a twisted face of boiling rage and bloodlust, eyes burning like coals. For a heartbeat, Vult stood transfixed, trapped in a miasma of unease and… fear.

Then the Reaper leapt onto his horse's saddle and launched high into the air, hurtling faster than a human should. The man drew level with the ogre's skull and, in an aerial pirouette Vult could only conceive as impossible, plunged his sword into the ogre's mouth, piercing its meaty tongue and driving the blade down into its bottom jaw with such force that the beast jerked forwards. Unbalanced by the weight of the blow, the ogre toppled, crushing a handful of demons under its bulk as the Reaper rode it to the ground, having used the sword as an anchor to swing onto the back of its neck.

Losing the sword in the demon's mouth, the Reaper threw himself into the throng with a keening warcry that snapped Vult free of his stupor. A rush of sensation burst through Vult's mind, the primal challenge of the Reaper's takedown eliciting a need for a greater act of valor.

"Grind these bastards into dust" Vult screamed, whipping his sword forwards to sweep the head from an orc. His Black Dogs cheered and renewed their efforts, pushing harder against the endless demontide. "I'll not have a newcomer making us look like pansy-ass ceremonial guards. Get in there, you Dogs!"

An orc flew into the air minus its arm. The Reaper emerged from a collapsing pocket of orcs, swinging the beast's arm like a club. A blow from his improvised weapon sent another orc tumbling backwards. Before the beast could recover, the Reaper leapt on it and gripped it by the throat. With a snarling scream, he tore the orc's throat open. Quicker than the others could recover, he rolled backwards, scooped up the beast's fallen blade, and rushed the recovering ogre. The Reaper plunged the sword into the ogre's eye until his wrist disappeared in the torrent of gore and ooze that spilled out of the gaping wound. Wrenching the blade this way and that, he brutalized its skull until the beast stopped thrashing.

With the death of two ogres, and the monstrosity of the Reaper unleashed, the demons began to falter. Their savageness dulled, their swings became less sure. One by one, they started to backpedal, to retreat. All the while Vult cut his way forwards, diving into the heart of the horde, abandoning the shield wall. His Kuroinu followed hot on his heel, carving a bloody wedge into the legion ranks. As the tide shifted, the whole Black Dogs army pressed the attack. Shieldbearers rotated to the back lines so the spearmen and swordsmen could have unrestricted access to their foes. Mages exhausted their strength hurling spell after spell, causing the most carnage they could before retiring for rest or collapsing on the ground.

The horde began to fracture. Slowly but steadily, the demons lost their valor. With the cavalry crashing into their flanks over and over, and their front assailed by a sudden assault, the demons' coherency vanished. All purpose left them, save to escape. But the Black Dogs showed no mercy, and butchered their way through the horde for nearly three hours. Throughout it all, Vult kept at the forefront. Always cutting down the strongest foe, always cheering his men on and exulting them. And the Reaper was everywhere. Ulysses swore he saw the man sprinting through a crowd of orcs, severing throats and opening bellies as if his mere passage was death itself. Hicks claimed that the Reaper was always on his side of the field, and charged headfirst into a trio of ogres, taking them apart as quickly as Vult might slay the same number of orcs. Even Vult swore he saw the man again and again. Rushing to and fro, appearing and disappearing into thick knots of foes only for them all to die moments later.

The longer the day went on, the more Vult began to wonder if his duel with Louk Shannegh had even been a duel. The animalistic rage on the Reaper's face as he scythed through the demons was a terrifying sight to behold, even to Vult. The Reaper was not a man.

By the time the last demon fell, and the bloodsoaked Black Dogs fell to their knees in exhaustion or slumped against each other for support, Vult had come to the terrible, ominous conclusion.

Orcs, imps, ogres and the like were evil. They were monsters, fueled by nothing but hate, lust, and darkness. There was no good in them, there never would be. Until the end of time, they would be something to be feared, to be hated, to be killed without mercy.

They were demons.

But the Reaper was the devil himself.


	6. The Dark Queen

**Author's Notes: Apologies in advance for any typos. Tried to proofread, but wrote most of this while in a vehicle, and I use Google Docs so spellcheck wasn't active. Think I got all of them.**

 **Reviewers** -  
DragonMaster4872- **Well, if you read an H-game fanfic for the plot, that's your first mistake. Now if you are reading a fanfic (i.e. a story and not a modified walkthrough) then the story does matter. I write stories, and stories need a reason. As I stated in a previous AN, the whole premise of Vult already being a bad guy is silly. There's not depth to a story of "bad guy becomes badder guy." THAT is stupid. However if you are bringing in the corrupting power of chaos, it needs something to corrupt. Otherwise this is just a glorified fapfic, and it that's what you are looking for I am sure a 30-second Google search will set you up just right.**  
Snoogenz **\- Well, they will have to face something Khornish. And it shan't be pretty. But it will be awesome.  
** Guest **\- Yes, sort of. He isn't in the Illuminati or a part of it (or really even aware it exists) but yes he was formerly possessed. That Which Is Forbidden has Reaper's backstory.  
**JauneBrando **\- I have seen the Total War ones, but haven't read them yet. Will eventually get around to it. Glad to hear they are good. And sorry, but Chaos needs a foil. Evil finding evil is neither interesting nor engaging. But Evil polluting the Good, well that's a heartbreaking story. And I like heartbreaking stories.  
** Ronmr **\- More the former than the latter. Daemonically possessed in the past tense.  
** Abdiel Amaro **\- I try to leave breadcrumbs for the characters. Some are harder than others, but a couple (*cough* Claudia *cough*) write themselves.  
** Guest 2- **Nah, he is/was genuinely a good guy in this story. Him being a shitbag that words alongside the Shields didn't make any sense to me. Especially how Maia could have such a glowing picture of him, when everyone writes him as a shitbag before he even went evil.  
** Machia **\- Neither did I, I can promise you that.  
** OverlordMetatron **\- Well, he has a past with the Inquisition...  
** SomeGuyOverHere **\- Yes, this reality is so utterly different from the 40k one he knows. He's more than a little bothered by it. As for the Legion presence, that was always something I wondered about. Other people cover the "here's a secret door" gig, but where was the army? And yes, Olga's a babe. And Vult's pretty awesome, which only makes sense considering the regard the Shields had held him in.  
** **Interested Guest- Olga. The others are bread and butter, and as weird as it sounds, when i went and did actual research (not the *wink* research) her progression through the actual storyline is actually... 'solid.' She never really lost her sense of aloofness and superiority, but not in a snide way. It was more of the "I'm totally boned, but they can't take my dignity." That earned her a bit of respect from me.  
** ThatOneGuyUpstairs **\- No Harlequins. Writing Eldar was hard enough in TWiF, and that was with little real interactions. I am not even going to try making a convincing Harlequin. I also tend to prefer low-scale crossovers. Big space battles and stuff is not my cup of tea to write, although I enjoy reading it. From a writing perspective, it is too much of a headache for me to try and push the realism of a large-scale crossover event. So I try to keep it down to minimal overlap.  
** StaffSergeat **\- Damn it, I still haven't posted a review on your story. I really need to fix that. You are correct that Reaper _shouldn't_ pair with anybody, but Louk Shannegh is impulsive and emotionally fragile (believe it or not). He's got a lot of scars in his past, and doesn't really have a strong foundation of trust, stability, or any of those positive things. Never got a goddamn ice cream cone as a kid.  
**Axccel **\- Eh, you have to look at it from their perspective. Alicia is very protective of Prim. That is her character. When Creepy McAsshole shows up out of the blue being creepy, the standard response would be to say 'fuck that guy.' I mean, if some dude I hadn't met who gives me the heebie jeebies put hands on my sister, I'd be grabbing my shotgun to shove up his rectum and unleash a load on. As for the power sword and burning... technically yes. But a 'power sword' is just a blade with a power field. There could be other properties in the blade itself. In this case, the lingering daemonic taint of a truly dead daemon. For capitalizing "Goddess," titles are capitalized, and that is her title. Celeste is literally called "The Goddess Reborn (or Incarnate depending on translation). The only time you follow the Big God, little god rule is in a setting/reality where Big God exists. Technically, Big God doesn't in 40k or in Kuroinu, so the rule doesn't apply. For Claudia, see above, but also consider this. If your best friend goes to touch a porcupine, and gets stabbed by quills, your instinctive reaction would be to pull your buddy the hell out of reach of the porcupine. Claudia's best friend touches a dude and has a straight-up seizure. That's usually a sign to get her as far from source of seizure as possible. That makes sense to me. Bad touch equals bad thing.  
** DJatomica69- **It's a different account because I have close friends and family that know my primary account, and I don't feel like explaining what Kuroinu is to my younger siblings. Louk isn't a pysker, but daemonic possessions tend to leave scars, and his was a little more than a regular possession. Khorne hates sorcery... and even though it ain't Warp-based, he has a couple tricks and such that are fairly above average thanks to his once-body-buddy.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **The White Citadel, Ken**

Claudia stormed along the corridor leading to her Goddess' quarters, fighting the urge to break into a run. Grendel, the personal butler to Lady Celeste, struggled behind her, his plump and stubby body falling further behind as she rushed to aid her Goddess.

The vision had come again. Three times now, since Celeste had knighted that accursed stranger, her liege's nights had been wracked with horror and fear. Each time more vivid and unsettling than the last, though the high elf would never admit it. Celeste's appearance was becoming ragged, exhaustion settling into her bones and wearing on her drooping smile so much that Claudia feared to allow her out of bed. To assist her, Claudia had chosen to remain in Ken for a time and, after sending messengers to her father that his stewardship of Geof need be extended, she had taken the place of her Goddess at the various and sundry meetings that were not explicitly required of the Goddess Reborn.

Her aim was to be always close at hand, but the visions came without warning. Once she had been in the very room, discussing the tithe rates of the various regions and how they might be affected with the ending of Olga Discordia's reign, when the vision had swept over Celeste so suddenly. Like lightning, it had sent the high elf into wretched spasms, agony spilling onto her face as unseen terrors bloomed in her mind. The sight of her Goddess struck so pitifully helpless and vulnerable had nearly broken Claudia's heart. Celeste had wept in her arms after the vision, too overcome by the weight of what she had seen to share them with her Second Shield.

Celeste had chosen to shoulder this burden by herself. That was not something Claudia could allow.

"Open the doors" Claudia ordered, barking at the nervous guards. They leapt to action, pulling the white-and-gold doors apart, eyes hastily averted from the contents inside. The air fairly crackled with their distress. The one seemed close to tears, unable to reconcile how their leader might be suffering. To the simple man, this might very well be something that shook the foundations of their faith in the Goddess. Claudia allowed herself a moment's hesitation to note their faces, committing them to memory. She would have to speak with them later, to assure them that what assailed Celeste was nothing they needed to worry about.

If only that were true.

Pausing just inside the doors to the Goddess' room, Claudia swallowed back a momentary panic that lanced through her chest. It appeared as if a pack of wild boars had rampaged through Celeste's quarters. Curtains had been torn down, books and tomes scattered across the floor. The high elf's bed was in ruins, the sheets twisted and thrown like a wild animal had struggled free. Bits of glass and porcelain littered the floor from shattered vases and figurines. The uninformed observer would have thought this place ransacked.

Her eyes found her Goddess, and the tightness in Claudia's chest pressed in like a dozen icy blades.

Celeste sat curled in a ball in the center of the room, her face buried in her knees. Voiceless, mewling sobs shook the tender high elf's body. Bloody scratches covered her arms, caused by her own frantic spasms. Her Goddess, the most powerful sorceress in the lands, wiser and more knowledgeable than any living, had been reduced to a pitiful, weeping child.

"Close… close the doors" Claudia commanded, her voice catching in her throat.

The doors slammed closed. And Claudia's tears spilled down her cheeks.

"Lady Celeste."

Approaching her Goddess carefully, Claudia ripped her armored circlet free and set it on the ground. Shedding her sword and gloves as well, she drew to the high elf's side and knelt a discrete distance away, making sure to place herself in Celeste's sight. Another time, she had approached the Goddess like this from behind, and in her terror Celeste had nearly launched the fireplace poker through Claudia's chest.

"My lady." Reaching out slowly, cautiously, she placed her warm hands on Celeste's knees. Her Goddess flinched, head jerking up, revealing the bloodshot, wide-eyed stare. The high elf sucked in a breath, blue flames spilling across her reddened orbs, but then it faded, and Celeste's mouth opened in a silent, empty cry. "I am here."

"Claudia." Launching herself forwards, any sense of decorum long since abandoned, Celeste threw herself into Claudia's arms. The high elf's hot tears were thin and strained; the worst of it had already passed. Now came the shock, the uncertainty. Knowing better than to press her Goddess just now, Claudia waited patiently, stroking her fingers through Celeste's hair.

"Shhh… I am here now. There is nothing to fear."

"It's here." Celeste whispered.

"What is?" Even though she knew it was not, Claudia could not help but glance around the room. There were no shadows here. The light from the windows, stretching from marble floor to the vaulted ceiling, allowed no shadows during the day. It made the room open, comforting. She had always found it easy to relax here in her Goddess' room. Those words made her doubt, if only for a moment, the safety of Celeste's sanctum.

"It climbed the gates" Celeste droned, her expression going slack. "It's stalking down my halls. It's coming for me."

"There is nothing coming for you, Celeste." Easing her Goddess' head free of her shoulder, Claudia kissed the high elf on the forehead. It had long ago ceased to strike her as strange that Celeste was decades her elder, but in this relationship Claudia had often found herself the motherly figure. The Goddess had so much on her plate that it amazed Claudia the high elf had any time for herself. "There is no war here. There is no fiend coming for you."

"But I felt it." Some of the color was returning to Celeste's face. She reached up to touch her own cheeks, and the Goddess blanched at the bloody scratches on her arms. "It felt so real. So vivid. It was calling my name, Claudia. And the... darkness followed behind it."

"The darkness" Claudia chided, scoffing at the word. "You don't want to say it. I won't be upset, Celeste. The only thing I care about is your health."

"... Louk Shannegh was chasing it." Celeste's eyes fell, staring sheepishly at their feet.

Despite her promise, Claudia glowered at the admission. It was the same vision. This terrible creature hunting her, drawing closer and closer each time. But always with the damned Louk Shannegh behind it. Curse that man for bringing this suffering upon her Goddess. Claudia looked forward to his return; she would have words with that man if he set foot in Ken again.

"Well then, if _Louk Shannegh_ is on the hunt, you have nothing to fear" Claudia lied through clenched teeth. "Come, let me put you to bed. You look exhausted."

"I don't want to go to bed" Celeste murmured, though she did not resist when Claudia stood her up and wrapped an arm under her Goddess' shoulder. Taking slow, shuffling steps, they moved to the massive bed that Celeste slept in. It was a truly marvelous bed. Claudia had slept on it once, during a long stretch of strategy meetings and planning sessions. A gift from Alicia's grandmother, the bed had been hand-crafted by thirteen artisans, made specially for Celeste. Replacing the sheets cost the same as buying a new bed, it was so large. Claudia forced the thought of repairs aside, focusing instead on her Goddess' drooping head.

"He is too late" Celeste breathed, her voice barely heard.

"Who is?"

Easing Celeste onto the bed, Claudia pushed the twisted sheets aside and slipped her Goddess further along the mattress. Celeste melted into the pillows, what little energy she had fading away. For a moment she hesitated, considering whether or not to leave. These visions never occurred soon after each other. She had not reason to believe that her Goddess would suffer more this day. But she looked so helpless, so desperately in need of comfort.

Settling down beside her Goddess, Claudia pulled Celeste close and place the elf's head against her shoulder. Thin hands grasped needfully at her, and Celeste rolled over to cling to her side. Claudia eased her arm under her Goddess' head and stroke her hair comfortingly, massaging the woman's skull as she drifted off into sleep.

"It's already arrived" Celeste whispered, her voice muffled by lips pressed against Claudia's dress.

"I am going to die now."

Claudia's whole body went rigid with shock at the sudden strength in her Goddess' words. Her eyes darted to her sword, carelessly left across the way, and for a panic-stricken moment, Claudia allowed herself to fear that something was truly coming for Celeste. Then it passed, and Celeste's breathing slowed to an easy, restful slumber.

Clutching her Goddess protectively, Claudia whispered a prayer for Celeste, and revisited the words she had planned for Louk Shannegh when he came back to Ken.

She prayed that he would die in Garan, so that those words would never have to be spoken.

 **The Black Fortress, Garan**

He stood at the gates.

The wind grew suddenly still here, at the mouth of the yawning black-iron fortress. Just a hundred yards away, a cool breeze caressed the already-rotting battlefield, sweet relief for the men and women who had just minutes before been fighting for their lives. The cold snap of air had been taken by many as a sign of good favor, of fortune smiling down upon them. He knew the truth to be something else entirely. It was not the unsought touch of nature that brought such cold around them. It was a dark power, something this world had never seen before. The cold winds emanated from the rich nothingness beyond this world's reality. Circling around the fortress in broad, indiscriminate currents, it soothed the mind, enticed the senses. And in those seductive eddies and breathless touches, the unheard whispers touched innocent minds.

Warp magik.

The daemon had breached the fortress. Though Louk could not sense the magic of this realm, he knew the power of the sorceress inside, and knew the prize she would be for _Virtuoso_. Its lust for dominance and control would find an excellent host in a soul that already bent so many creatures to her will.

They had to move quickly.

"Here you are" the strong voice called from behind. Vult sauntered up to his side, his face hidden behind a water skin as he greedily guzzled down the lukewarm fluids. "I'd have thought you would charge in by yourself."

"Even I would not take this creature alone" Louk muttered. Turning his head, he inspected the exhausted men tramping up behind their general. Thirty Kuroinu had answered Vult's summons, in addition to nearly a hundred swordsmen. The rest were either dead or too wounded to fight on. The Black Dogs had fought valiantly, against overwhelming odds. To even have won was a spectacular feat. Even so, too few remained able to push ahead. In the distance a company of archers jogged up the slope to the gates. Their arms lacked the strength to pull bows after the battle, but the long knives and bucklers in their hands would do well in the confines of a castle. Two hundred Black Dogs in total would join him in securing the Black Fortress. The rest were dead, wounded, or securing the battlefield. It would have to be enough.

"Well, we may be tired, but we'll take this place regardless." Vult offered the waterskin to Louk, who shook his the skin fall onto a rock, Vult shrugged his massive shoulders and drew his sword. "How are we doing this?"

"We find it. Fix it in place. Finish it." He spoke the words calmly, remembering too clearly how those exact words had passed his lips not so long ago. Then, it had been around a glowing holographic projection table. And the man across the table had not been Vult the mercenary general, but Captain Ichabod Coln of the 823rd Cadian Infantry. "I will head straight for the throne room. You sweep the castle, drive it to meet me. We will catch it in one place and destroy it."

"What about the Dark Queen? You just want first look at her" Vult joked.

The murderous glare Louk shot the man silenced his laughter. "Do not underestimate this thing, Vult. It has slain entire armies."

"Yeah, and so have we." Waving his men forwards, Vult pointed his sword determinedly through the gate. "Here it is, lads! One more fight, and this war is over."

A ragged cheer rose from the Black Dogs, and the mercenaries surged forwards. Louk stalked at the vanguard, one hand holding the now-chipped and battered sword he had pried from a Kuroinu's corpse, the other resting on the hilt of his secret weapon. His gaze swept left and right, not so much looking for danger as much as _feeling_ for it. For the heartbeats of monsters and terrors. For the rotten stench of foul breath and succulent flowers.

It had passed through not long ago.

The Black Dogs slowed to a stop in the courtyard, confusion stemming their enthusiasm as they marched into a scene of horrific carnage beyond that of the butcher's field outside. The demons had fought here. Orcs against orcs, ogres against ogres, they had fought with blades, with clubs, and with their teeth and claws. Mutilated bodies carpeted the yard, corpses ripped into unrecognizable piles of gore and meat. An ogre lay propped against a wall to their left, its body rent by so many cuts it must have bled to death rather than be taken down by sheer force. The half-eaten remains of a monstrous orc hung from its mouth, held by sinew caught in the beast's teeth.

"Goddess' tits" one of the Kuroinu cursed, prodding a stack of bloody bones that might have been an imp. "What happened here?"

"Sure, this ain't like them normally fight" another grunted. With axe and shield slung over his back, the other Kuroinu ventured into the sea of dead. "I mean, we've never seen them fight this much amongst themselves. Look at this one. He was eating a fucking imp when he got gibbed. The hell happened here?"

"Don't look at them" Louk called out, stealing their attention back. Hurrying through the yard, Louk motioned for them to follow. "Ignore the dead. We need to catch the one that caused this."

"Was this the Dark Queen's doing" he heard the first ask aloud.

"If it was, she'd done us a favor. There's seven ogres in the yard. What's left of seven."

"Vult!" Louk summoned the mercenary general. The hulking swordsman had a grim, questioning expression on his face, but he held his silence as he approached. "Take one hundred and go right. Keep your men together. Send the other hundred to the left. I will go straight on."

"I thought you said you can't take this on by yourself" Vult remarked, not challenging but bringing the question to bear.

"I won't let it catch me unawares" Louk promised. "We need to stop it, but we also need to make sure it does not reach Olga Discordia first. If we send too many to her position, it may reverse and leave. And you don't want this monster charging into your men outside."

"Sure" the mercenary agreed. "Kuroinu! To the left. Take the archers with you. Blades up, eyes peeled. Don't leave a stone unturned. Rest of you, with me. Move!"

The Black Dogs moved forward under their respective commanders. Shuffling in close order, wary of assault, the mercenaries marched into the citadel of the Black Fortress. Their eyes were strained wide as they searched for danger, and those in the front rank kept their shields up in a protective barrier. There would be little room to dodge in the confines of the castle hallways. They would need to trust in their strength.

That strength would not help them if they ran into the daemon.

Once the two flanking forces departed, Louk tossed the damaged sword away and drew his true weapon. He held off from activating the field, choosing to let the darkness of the castle interior cloak him in shadow. He let out a soft breath. The daemon's closeness raised goosebumps on his flesh.

Heavy footfalls rose ahead, the tramping rush of orcs and lesser creatures. Whether they were of the fortress garrison or the invading forces, he cared little. They stood in his way. Lifting the sword to hold it vertically before his face, he pressed the cold adamantium blade to his forehead and gave himself two precious seconds to enjoy its soothing touch. Then the blade flicked down to a guard position, and he advanced towards the sound of feet. He counted twenty.

They were woefully outmatched.

 **-v-**

Silence reigned in the throne room. Faint currents of air wafted from unseen vents hidden in the ceiling, spiralling down the stone columns and spilling across old, disused tapestries that fluttered weakly in parody of life. Motes of dust danced in the firelight of the roaring torches, filling the room in the subtle aroma of neglect and age. The thick carpet, once bright red and filled with color, was a dull crimson now, its color long faded and abandoned. The room reminded her of a forgotten leviathan, body rotted and bleached by the sun, its skeletal frame offering a grim view of the glory it once had known.

This place had been lively once. Filled with color and the chatter of dark elf courtiers. Ages past, centuries so long ago they may as well have been forgotten, his place had possessed a noble name, and Garan had contained a noble people. That was before the demons had come. Before the eternal war, the ageless strife. Before magic had been tooled to warfare, and the blood of thousands drowned the trees and the grass. It had been a wonderful place, in the bright years before the demons.

Now this fortress was little more than a shell, a ghost of a castle filled with the memories of the dead and the haunted whispers of forgotten secrets. The only color that remained was that which she brought with her. The fires of the torches and the brightness of her clothes brought a pale shadow of vitality to the lifeless fortress, pushing back against the encroaching shadows and decay. For just over a hundred years now, she had called this crumbling castle her home. From her throne, from the seat of unholy power, she had wielded the command of demons and bent them to her will. For just over a hundred years, she had worked to hold back to corruption that had taken root in the foundations of the ancient home.

One hundred years.

It was not enough, but it would have to do. Her story would end here, reviled for a time, then forgotten in the dust of ages. How would they think of her? The Dark Queen, the ruler of the Damned Legion. A witch of immeasurable power that set her armies of orcs and monsters against the peaceful people of Eostia. It was a fate she had come to terms with long ago. Sacrifices needed to be made, and she alone had the strength of will to do so.

Still, a hint of wistfulness lurked in the edge of her mind. The pang of regret and faces not seen. The old touch of friends, of allies. She missed the voices that sang rich music in the twilight, the lithe bodies that danced wonderfully in the firelight. To die here would be a pity. In this hellhole, this rotten carcass of a home. Her lip curled slightly, a crack in her cold and efficient demeanor. Death was not what she feared. She feared nothing. But to be taken alive, that was something she could not condone. She would die before allowing herself to be taken by the monsters fighting in her halls.

Especially the one. The leader of her rebellious army. The violet-eyed abomination called _Virtuoso_. She had never seen anything like that creature. It was an orc, or at least had been an orc. But its body was thinner, leaner, and it moved with a seductive grace that no monsters possessed. Its voice had turned her stomach, sweet and sickly in its unspoken intentions, the silent whispers caressing her ears and sending a chill up her spine. It was here now. Inside her halls. Slaughtering its way through her last defenses. The arrival of the Black Dogs mercenary army had given her some measure of hope. But they had been too few to defeat the horde. Her last sight before retreating inside her sanctum had been the brave human army being overwhelmed by the demon horde, drowning in an endless sea of bodies.

It was drawing close now. She could feel its presence growing stronger, nearer. The magic it wielded confounded her best efforts to stop it. It powered past her illusions, avoided her traps. The thing had a canny mind she had not battled against in some time. Had she more time, she was certain she could keep it at bay for weeks, if not longer. Time, however, did not wait on her whim. _Virtuoso_ had caught her unawares. And just after she had sent the bulk of her legion to the north.

It was as if the gods were mocking her efforts.

She stood alone now, abandoned by her allies, her one retainer leading what remained of her garrison in a futile defense against the intruders. Dear Chloe had the fire and eagerness to protect her, but not the skill to face something this powerful. It was a shame she had refused the command to leave. Hers was a life that did not need to end here. Not like this, surrounded by decay and the dead.

Staff in hand, she waited, gathering her power, drawing her strength into a single, potentially catastrophic spell. When _Virtuoso_ stepped into her throne room, she would greet it with the sum of her might. If that failed to stop it, her next choice… she wondered if she truly had the courage to carry it through.

Outside, in the entry chamber that guarded her throne room, the sounds of battle joined. Twenty orcs and as many imps composed her last line of defense. They were formidable warriors, some of the best she had found and molded to her own will, to a more personable and less degenerate nature. Any one of those warriors she would have pitted against five of their kin.

The last agonized scream rang out two minutes after the first ring of steel echoed through the throne room doors. She gripped her staff tighter, knuckles whitening from the pressure exerted on her staff. Leaving one hand behind her back, hiding the arcane gestures drawing power to her grasp, she waited, and wondered just what _Virtuoso_ truly was. Nothing from this world, she understood that. The air of otherworldliness about it had set her on edge, as had the seductive way it stole the loyalty of her minions from her power.

She had asked herself if this was her judgment. With the weakening of her power, her hold on the legion was slipping. The power of the Greenwyrd had always been a finite resource. For a hundred years she had drawn on the Greenwyrd to empower her sorcery and bend the legion of demons to her will. For a time, it had worked. But now that time was passing, and her unnatural abilities were ending. Was this how the world vented its wrath at her abuse of the natural law?

The massive wrought doors of the throne room creaked inwards and she took a long breath, readying her staff, channeling the last of her power into a fireball powerful enough to destroy the walls of her own castle.

What stepped through the yawning portal was not the creature that called itself _Virtuoso_. The bloodied creature that strode out of the gore-slicked entry chamber was human. Hands drenched in the blood of demons, eyes burning with a baleful anger. Bearing an ornate sword of the kind she had never seen before, he entered her throne room with confident, predatory steps. His eyes swept the room once before landing on her, fixing her with an overpowering sense of dread. His pace slowed, then stopped, and his blade lowered until the tip touched the marble flooring.

"Of course she is" the human grumbled, his gaze flicking up and down her body. His attentions were not unfamiliar. Her beauty was not unknown to her. Suffering the lecherous gazes of humans, elves, and even demons had been a trial she had endured ever since her youth. In her homeland, or rather the exiled homeland, many had often commented on and praised her for her beauty that surpassed many of her own kind. As a youth, it had been her devoted pride and joy to flaunt her ravishing smile, the steal the gazes of men and women alike with daring clothes and flattering fashions. That was before she had grown up, before the weariness of responsibility had settled on her. Now, it was a distraction. Something that she neither cared for nor regretted. It simply... was. This was different though. There was no lustful admiration in his eyes, but cold and calculating intelligence. His was the face of a man who looked past the scandalous purple corset and silk sleeves and diaphanous sash and saw the staff in her hand. His gaze swept up to meet hers again, the hardened edge fading from his eyes, a cautious curiosity filling his expression.

Hiding her surprise behind the listless stare she had mastered long ago, she eased her grip on the staff, but did not release the energy crackling around its focusing crystal. "You are either incredibly foolish or incredibly powerful to approach my throne."

The man ignored her statement and started forwards, approaching her throne with an easy gait, and sheathed his sword. Putting the sword away may simply have been a maneuver to put her at ease, but she did not relax. Her staff tipped down slowly, falling to aim warningly at the man.

"Olga Discordia, the Dark Queen" the man called out. "Your army is broken, your allies have abandoned you, and a monster you cannot possibly imagine is rampaging through your castle. You are out of options."

"Foolish, then." Olga sighed. "I was a powerful sorceress before I came to the Black Fortress. I still am without them."

"If I was here to kill you, that would matter." The man stopped at the first of three steps that led up to her throne. "But the Black Dogs are here to bring you before Celeste Lucross. The Goddess Reborn desires peace."

"You bring word of peace at the edge of the sword" she shot back, knowing full well what his response could be. It was more to test how he responded. It had been far too long since she had held conversation with a person who did not swear undying fealty to her every desire.

"I couldn't find a doorbell" he spat back, emotionless. The unfamiliar term struck her as odd, but she had been away from civilization for a while. Time waited for no one. "And your butler was rude."

Choosing to not get lost on a rabbit trail, she pulled the conversation back to what mattered. "You came in the name of the Goddess Reborn?"

"My orders are to bring you alive and as unharmed as possible to her." He stopped, thought for a moment, and shrugged. "But you already knew that. You were the one that called out to her, weren't you?"

That accusation shocked her. She blinked once, struggling to hide her surprise. Before she could muster a response, the man continued.

"You know, the people of this world are incredibly naive. They think that good is destined to conquer evil. They think that their 'goddess' is a prophet, a seer that is visited by visions of the foe before they come true. But that's a lie, isn't it? Those were your visions." He placed a foot on the first step. Olga's eyes narrowed, but she did not answer. How could he have known that? She was the only one that had that power, as far as she knew. It was a byproduct of using the Greenwyrd. and she was the only one to have ever used it. Certainly this man had not. "Because that's what you've been doing here. They don't get it, because they can't understand."

Holding her silence, Olga stared down at the man, her mind racing. She did not know who this was, but his knowledge made her teeth ache. Lifting her staff away from his chest, she nodded for him to continue.

"Not sure how you did it, of course." He took another step forwards. Olga had to fight the urge to retreat. "Control the legions, feed them into ambush after ambush, thinning the population while holding them back. They call you the enemy, but that isn't true, is it? You've been keeping the legion at bay, fighting the war in your own-"

A slim figure dropped from the ceiling, silvery-blonde hair streaming free from her hooded cloak. The flash of a silver blade preceded a gout of blood as the man's throat opened, and the assassin darted to the side, clearing space in case of a frantic last swing or death spasm. But there was none. The man sank to his knees, his body shuddering, and collapsed onto the third step.

"Chloe" Olga cried out, embracing her retainer. The young half-elf groaned in exhaustion. Blood wept from dozens of cuts and scrapes across her limbs. Bruises mottled her caramel skin. One of her knives was missing, no doubt left in the body of a demon or a Black Dog somewhere in the fortress.

"My queen" Chloe huffed, breathing harshly. She freed herself from Olga's arms and dropped to a knee. "We need to leave. The garrison is finished. _Virtuoso_ is unstoppable. And behind it come the damned Black Dogs."

"I understand" Olga promised. "Is the vault still sealed?"

"That is where the beast is heading. I was unable to hold it back." Chloe's eyes grew wet. "We must leave now. Forget the Greenwyrd. Your life is all that matters."

"That" a voice muttered, thick and dripping wetly, "is not quite true."

Both elves started. Olga nearly leapt out of her skin, and only her honed reflexes kept her from skittering away in fright as the corpse on the steps pushed off the ground. By her side, Chloe swept into a defensive position, placing herself between Olga and the man's body, her knife held out in warding.

"What blasted sorcery" Chloe hissed, but her question was cut off as the man spoke again.

"No" he chided, and picked himself onto his feet. Spending a moment wiping the dust from his clothes, he reached up and felt his throat. A throat that showed a mere reddened welt where Chloe's knife had cut. "Not sorcery. By the way, dick move. It's rude to interrupt when someone is talking."

"Wha…" her retainer's body tensed like steel wires pulled taut when the man advanced onto the third and final step. He stood level with them now, and his physical presence dwarfed them both. Olga knew without having to see it, that this man could defeat them both in a fight.

"Your life" the man grunted, indicated her, "is indeed important. This whole expedition's intent was to ensure you remain alive. And you, assassin, are no monster, so I would assume you are aware of your mistress' schemes. You do not need to die either."

"Don't sound so haughty" Chloe snarled. "I will cut you down again."

"You only touched me because I allowed it" the man snapped. His impatience bled through his voice, and Olga noted the hint of fire rising in his eyes. That malevolent anger that struck her as strangely similar, yet so utterly different, than that of _Virtuoso_. It too did not belong in this world. Time seemed to stop as she put the pieces together.

"You are hunting it" she murmured, her voice carrying just far enough to reach the man, voice hushed as if afraid those words might summon the beast tearing through her fortress. Her retainer froze at the suggestion, ears perking to the unexpected words, jaw unclenching. The man looked past Chloe and regarded her with a predatory gaze. "That is why you are here. You are what I saw in my dreams."

"My mission is to kill the daemon" the man confirmed. "I expected it to be making its way here. It is not. Do you know why?"

"The Greenwyrd" she answered without hesitation. "It sensed the power of the Greenwyrd."

"An artefact" he guessed.

"I used its strength to bend the legion to my will" Olga admitted, though she did not know why she gave this information so freely. The man could snatch that knowledge from her, she told herself. She could die here by his hand, by the monster's hand, or perhaps there was a third way that ended with her still breathing.

So she told him everything.

 **-v-**

Arterial blood sprayed wildly as the headless orc flailed, arms windmilling in instinctive attempt to hold itself upright. The hefty body crashed to the ground, and Vult took a harsh, shallow breath. His sword remained resting on the stone floor, head up and alert for more foes. There were none. This passage had been cleared. Just like the dozen before it, and the various rooms his Black Dogs had purged of the legion's presence.

They had been moving for at least an hour now. He was uncertain how long they had been down here. The castle led ever deeper, always sloping downwards, and the only light was that of the braziers mounted on the walls or the torches carried by his own men. It was prime ambush territory, with the demons' low light vision giving them advantage over his tired company.

It was a blessing of the Goddess that no such ambush had materialized. More often than not, the passages they trod were littered with the dead from recent battle. It was clear to Vult that they were on the right path. This monster that the Reaper was so keen on catching was not, in fact, heading to the throne room. That piece was high in the castle, yet this thing was charging into the depths of the mountain the Black Fortress had been built on. Whatever its reason, Vult thanked his lucky stars that it had taken the liberty of tearing the garrison to shreds. Only stragglers remained, those that had avoided death by hiding or simply not being present when death had come calling.

They were going to catch up to it. It was slowed down by each fight, and the bodies were becoming fresher, the blood less clotted. Soon they would have it, and then Vult could face this mysterious beast and see just how powerful it was. The thought of such a fight excited him. It would be a true test of his skill. Not like his duel with Reaper. He had pulled no blows there, but killing had not been the intent. It was different, when the only outcome was one or the other dead. He did not have to hold back. He could unleash his full might on the beast.

"Come on, you bastards!" Vult sucked in a deep breath and started on, picking his way through the mutilated orc corpses. One of them bore over a hundred claw marks on its thick and rubbery flesh. Vult knew because he had counted them, in the brief moment of rest. Another looked to have been choked to death on an arm; its own arm, judging by the empty gory socket on its right shoulder. "We're not done yet."

His men voiced their reply quietly, and did not shrink back. Many of them were disturbed by the carnage they had seen, but they were veteran soldiers to a man, and their gratitude at the death of their foes outweighed their consternation of what had slain them. Swords and spears at the ready, the mercenaries advanced in formation, shields leading the way. Even though they had yet to suffer an ambush, they were not taking their fortune for granted.

Another hundred paces and they came to a closed door, ironclad and unyielding. Runic inscriptions of powerful spells had protected it. The iron around those runes was melted now, malformed from the intense heat of the runes' breaking. The magic of the door had been shattered. Its contents now lay vulnerable, undefended. Vult wondered what lay inside, but he did not have the time to speculate. Dragging the door open, he stole a look inside and grimaced.

Two dozen bodies lay in a perfect circle around the room. Orcs and imps, in equal number, their bodies staggered in series, face up with arms tight to their sides. Each one's throat had been opened, and their blood pooled collectively in the center of the room; how that happened he did not know, because the room appeared perfectly flat with no slope. Yet the blood had gathered in the center, and their bodies showed little sign of struggle or having been moved. It was the strangest thing he had seen. The eyes had been taken from the imps, arrayed in the midst of the blood-pool in a perfect circle the mirrored that of the bodies. Something much more intimate had been taken from the orcs. His grimace tightened at the sight of eight orc cocks arrayed around the eye-circle, creating an eight-pointed star in the sea of blood.

It was some cursed ritual or sorcery, that much he knew. But what drew his attention as surely as it froze him in place was the figure standing on the other side of the circle. It was an orc, but unlike any orc he had ever seen. Violet fire burned in its eyes, a subtle flickering light that illuminated its thin and near human-like face. It loomed over the room like a monument of grey flesh, its skin sleek and taut rather than the gleaming fatness he was so familiar with. Blood flowed down its limbs from a myriad of cuts. Not from battle though, but from careful, precise carving. Runes stretched along its arms, legs, and he imagined across its brawny chest. This was the beast that Reaper was hunting for.

"Was wondering when I'd catch up to you" Vult said, forcing bravado into his voice. The creature cocked its head to one side, sizing him up and down, and the men behind. Vult stepped into the room, allowing his Black Dogs to shuffle in and form up along the length of the room. Not all of them could fit, those that could not remained impatiently in the hallway. "Got a friend here looking to take your head. Shame I'll be claiming it first. He'll be right pissed about that."

The orc-thing said nothing, merely continued to watch, and listen. A stirring of unease formed in Vult's gut, but he brushed it aside and stepped closer. His armored boot crushed the leg of one of the fallen imps. If the thing cared, it made no show of it.

"You got a name, demon?" Tossing his sword forwards, Vult pointed it like an arrow at the orc-thing. "I haven't seen your kind before."

" _This virgin world has not seen many things_ " the orc whispered, in a very un-orclike voice. The sweet musical tones of its voice flittered through the mercenaries, and several groaned behind Vult. The clatter of a sword dropping to the floor alerted him that something was amiss, but he did not look behind. He trusted his men.

"You're not an orc." Vult accused the orc-thing with a stern glare. "Are you wearing its skin, some bastard skinwalker? Or are you something new?"

" _I am old_ " the thing countered. " _So very, very old. And I had thought to have run out of new, succulent things to taste, souls to conquer, and experiences to savor. But this world is pure. It is… untainted. I am eager to taste it._ "

As the thing spoke, more groans arose from the mercenaries. Several fell, dropping to their knees or even collapsing on the ground. Weapons dropped from nerveless fingers, and a few lurid moans emerged from further back. A dull ache pressed against Vult's skull, like fingers pushing against the interior of his skull trying to break it open.

" _You… you are the first creature I have found that is truly worthy._ " The orc-thing slipped closer, seeming to glide over the dead in their sacrificial circle. Vult tracked its approach, sword held at the ready. His breathing was quick already, huffing for air as if he had just finished an intense battle. The sword weighed on his hands, taxing the strength in his arms. " _What is your name? I would like to know this._ "

"Vult."

The words sprang unbidden from his lips. At the sound of the simple, unassuming name, the orc-thing stopped, its face growing gleeful.

" _Vuuuuult_ " it repeated, rolling the vowel. " _It is a good name. I will take your name, Vult._ "

His arms lowered, taking the sword with it. The orc-thing stepped up to him, hovering just out of arm's reach, and extended a single, bony finger until it pressed against Vult's chest. The tension in his body relaxed, vanishing as if washed away. An uncomfortable tightness spread across his chest, down his hips, and reached to his toes. His legs refused to move. His arms hung limply at his side.

" _What are you_ " he asked, but no sound came out of his mouth.

The orc-thing grinned, revealing rows of perfectly white, razor sharp teeth. " _I am Virtuoso. I am the Sixth Beloved, the Last of the Guardians, and the Trader of Souls. Yours I will collect, yours I will take and devour, and with your name I will spread across this pure world and bring about such experiences as have never been seen before. But before I take your name, I must feed_."

Its jaw pulled further open, unhinging to a grotesque angle, and it lunged past Vult into the man by his side. The horrendous crunching rend of breaking bone and tearing flesh filled the air. All at once, the Black Dogs snapped out of their reverie. Scores of voice cried out in fear, terror, and anger. Some attempted to flee, pushing into the horde to try and flee the _Virtuoso's_ grasp. Others charged in to fight it, overcoming their fears with the courage and strength that was their pride. _Virtuoso_ tore them to pieces, moving like a liquid bolt of lightning, flowing over his men so quickly it might as well have been smoke. The dying screams of the Black Dogs was all he could hear.

And Vult could only stand rooted to the spot as they died all around him.


	7. How It Begins

**A/N: [insert witty joke about h-games and spaghetti here]**

 **Reviewers-  
** Dragonmaster4872 **\- My information comes from a thing called 'creative license.' Because there's this genre of writing called 'fanfiction' where people take a preexisting story or setting and adapt it to their pleasing. You should look it up. There's a site out there on the internet called... wait for it... fanfiction . net  
** CaptnDetergent **\- Don't worry, i won't use it as a crutch throughout the story. It's not a 'get out of jail free' like most people would expect.  
** snoogenz **\- heehee  
** TakanaMakana **\- Glad you 'like' the daemon. Wanted to make it nice and spooky without being overly cringedark.  
** BladeEater2 **\- pronounced more or less like regular 'Luke' but with a slightly elongated 'oo' sound. Kind of like 'lieu' with a hard 'k' at the end.  
** DJAtomica69 **\- Thanks! I'm trying to keep this one moving quickly. Unfortunately it means I've had to sideline the other account a bit, but with work and life and nerd-hobbying keeping me hella busy, at least I'm getting this done.  
** V **\- No one expects the genital inquisition!  
** Ronmr **\- ooooooohhhh yeeaaaaaaahhh  
** JauneBrando **\- See, and this is why I made him nice. Because people actually care when he goes down.  
** DreamWeaverGold **\- Now do they stay dead?  
** SomeGuyOverHere **\- White bread and "I can't believe it's not butter" ftw! Glad the foreboding bit abut Virtuoso went well. Wanted it to have a grand entrance to the story. With Olga I wanted to give her a good reason for being able to reintegrate into the world. Trying real hard to give all the characters enough background to make each character an integral character rather than a generic person. One of my roommates loves to use the phrase "first of all, how dare you," which I wanted to put in, but it did not feel like it would fit Louk's character.  
** chronotimeguard **\- I don't disbelieve him being a shitbag in the H-game. It didn't have plot and it didn't need to have plot. But for the purpose of this story and most of the other fanfics I don't believe him being a scumbag yet having a solid relationship with some of the Shields. Even Maya's blind infatuation would only be believable if she had not seen him in years, and that was not the gist of the relationship I got between them. But really it all boils down to this story. Chaos needs something to corrupt, and having a bunch of bad dudes already around would be interesting. I can acknowledge it in other Kuroinu stories, and in some it makes more sense. But I think you were misinterpreting my argument that it was a possibly into saying it is the only possibility.  
** Guest- **True, he already had the charisma and inspiring presence The part of it I generally don't believe for the fanfic part of it is how no one saw it coming. If it was written as a 'he's a bad guy and some people were ready for it' I'd be okay with it. But blindsiding EVERYBODY with his betrayal doesn't work for me. That's just lazy writing. But it's based on a H-game, visual novel, what have you, so whatevs.  
** Abdiel Amaro- **See, and this was my first real attempt at it. Glad I could make it work.  
** Danteinfernus- **Not intentionally. Though I do use the Vult - Griffith comparison, any resemblance after that is purely incidental.  
** dghornick- **I got at least a little more out for you.  
** StaffSergeant- **Exactly! And yes, this isn't going to be a happy 'dudeman wins everything' story. Still debating how much loss there will be.  
** human dragon **\- got sidetracked with life, but it's chugging along now.  
** Van the Rogue Soul Drinker- **Oh, don't you fear for Klaus. That's going to be positively brutal.  
** ManwithaPlan112- **Surprise! This is probably a hundred years or so post-TWiF timeline. In the teething years of immortality.**

* * *

 **The Black Fortress**

For one that had once ruled this fortress, Olga Discordia showed little discomfort at being placed in her own cells.

 _Showed_ , being the key word. Louk stared down at her for a moment, studying her impassive expression, noting the tension in her neck, the strain drawing her fingers closed tightly as she maintained her listless, uncaring frown that was as much for the benefit of her jailors as it was for her own sanity. Her world was crumbling down around her, torn out brick by brick, teetering on the edge of ruin. He did not know how long she had ruled with such limitless power and control, but the sudden loss of her throne was a crippling blow, and the gnawing insecurity of being at the mercy of others could not sit well in her mind.

Despite it all, Olga Discordia showed no fear. Silent as the dead, the dark elf queen rested on her knees, feet tucked under her, breathing slowly and calmly as she stared back up at him. Her unashamed curiosity was… refreshing. Here was a woman who did not fear the opinion of others. Bereft of her staff, her army, and her throne, she could have easily broken under the overwhelming loss. Instead, she regarded the Black Dogs mercenaries as indifferently as she might regard servants.

That attitude, as much as he respected it, was part of the reason she now sat in a cell. Her disdain for the Black Dogs mercenaries, men and women who had just fought tooth and nail to take the Black Fortress, angered many. Her retainer, the firebrand Chloe, was no better. She made her hatred of the humans, specifically humans, known through her silent glares and not-so-silent curses directed at any in eyesight. Between the disdain and the hatred, tempers flared quickly. Putting them back in their rightful lodgings was impossible. There was too little security there to protect them. So Louk had made the call to send them to the castle dungeon. It was clean enough; she had rarely used them if ever during her reign. The mercenaries brought down a few blankets for sleep and rest. It would do until they set back for Ken.

Soon after disarming the Dark Queen and acquiring her compliance, Hicks arrived with a squad of Kuroinu. The west wing of the castle had been cleared without a fight, the lieutenant reported. But no word had come out of the east wing. The east wing, where Olga's protected vault was, and where the mercenary general had led his men in pursuit of _Virtuoso_.

As dangerous as the daemon was, it would only be more powerful with a powerful magic user under its thrall. So Louk had ordered Hicks' men to secure the throne room, and rushed down to find Vult and his men. He hurtled over the piles of dead orcs and imps that littered the halls, his unease growing as the lack of dead human bodies made itself known. These poor excuses for 'demons' were a pitiful offering in comparison to the mortal human form. They held more power, more control. Offered so much more potential.

When he came to the resealed doors of Olga's vault, her private and most dangerous treasury, Louk knew he had miscalculated. And he had failed.

A phalanx of blank-eyed Black Dogs stood in silent, motionless formation before a towering iron door etched with infernal runes. Violet tears wept from the runes, tracing curling letters along the door, like weeds stretching over cracked pavement. At the floor, violet turned crimson, and the salt-iron stench of blood cloyed at his nostrils. Twenty lines of blood trickled out, winding over the stone until each found a waiting guardian. Blood dripped from their slit wrists in synchronicity, the steady _pap-pap_ echoing too loudly against the walls. The blood was not flowing from the door, but rather to it.

As one, the heads of the phalanx shifted to regard him, the motion smooth and perfect. Grey sightless orbs stared unflinchingly, expressions as blank as untouched paper. Fingers tightened on their weapons. But not a one spoke or made a motion forwards.

"Feck me" Louk breathed. He remained in the threshold, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

The tethers were there, though he could not see them. Tendrils of the Immaterium bound them to _Virtuoso_ , the daemon's specialty. Their souls would be gone, then. Devoured by the daemon, lost to the Warp. What remained of them would serve until the bodies were too mutilated to be of use. The tethers erased their humanity, their instinct for survival, and their physical limitations. They fought faster and more viciously than their mortal selves ever could. The power of the daemon bled into their shells, empowering them beyond physical constraint. Against ordinary mortals, they were a fearsome foe.

He could kill them all, but in the close quarters, it would hurt. And _Virtuoso_ would know he was here. The daemon was too powerful to take on without a proper plan; he needed the deck stacked in his favor. This would spoil his chance. His knuckles tightened on the handle of his sword, and he grudgingly backed away.

"Throne preserve us" he muttered.

For two days he had waited, watching the room, observing the comings and goings of the Black Dogs. The mercenaries lingered about the Black Fortress, clearing the dead and burying their allies. By right of conquest, the fortress belonged to them now. Proud banners, some pristine and new, others faded and tattered, lined the ramparts of the Black Fortress now. Armed guards patrolled the walls, ever vigilant for a horde of demons to appear on the horizon. Few remained outside the castle walls. Mainly the cavalry letting their horses to pasture, seeking what little grass as existed in the blasted waste of Garan.

Every day, more Black Dogs arrived. The steady trickle of reinforcements showed no sign of relenting as more and more contingents of mercenaries arrived from all across Eostia. Louk catalogued them all, noting each company, each commander, their preferred weapons and adapted styles. These were all men and women he would have to kill, more than likely. The thought soured his stomach, but he had seen, and done, far worse in the past.

The first day, he had considered speaking to the commanders and sending as many as possible back to Eostia. But that would not have worked, he told himself. He had no position in the hierarchy of the Black Dogs. He had no authority. And it made no tactical sense from their view to send troops back. If anything, they needed more here. To fortify against the inevitable demon counterattack.

If only that were the worst of their problems.

The other reason it would have not worked, was that _Virtuoso_ did not need to leave the vault to communicate. The daemon loved to skim the material plane, casting its psyche out into the void, skipping like a smooth stone against the dreams of sleeping men. It came to the commanders of the Black Dogs in those dreams, beckoning them to the vault, inviting them inside. One by one, they went to the vault. Hicks, Kin, Ulysses… every single one answered that call which they could not explain. And Louk watched each one's outraged expression at the sight of the phalanx before the smothering presence of the daemon drew them to its side.

It was the second day that Louk knew he had failed. There was no way to stop the daemon here. Not by himself. Perhaps the first day, if he had gone immediately to the vault, brought Hicks and the others, there might have been a chance. Now he was surrounded by foes, though most hardly knew it yet. The power of the daemon tickled his skin, scratching at his mind as he strode the halls of the castle in ever fitful contemplation. He knew a thousand ways to kill _Virtuoso_ , yet lacked the supplies to commit to any of them.

That was what had led him here, to the cells. Inspecting the proclaimed Dark Queen and asking questions he had never intended to ask.

This world was a mystery. Its very existence defied… what? The laws of physics and science that warred against the indescribable anarchy of the Immaterium. The purity of the soul? Since arriving here, in this strange world with its strange people and non-human races, he had been amazed at several domineering traits that had struck him as so incredibly wrong.

Men did not rule. This was no slight against women. He had known many powerful women in his time. Hell, he had married one of them, and had always respected a person for their power and character rather than whether they had a cock or a cunt. Each was hardwired a certain way, yet each had its strengths and weaknesses. It was not that women ruled that struck him as so wrong, but the fact that no men ruled. Every region of Eostia paid homage to a woman. Whether a Shield of their Goddess, or a trueborn noble sovereign, the women ruled. It was not quite oppressive, but it was hardly normal.

Second, the docile nature of the people. He had seen worlds where water was laced with compliance drugs that had more rebellion and aggression than here. Men and women alike were softer-spoken, less prone to action. Perhaps that was one of the reasons the Shields held power. Beside the concept of an incarnated god amongst them, they truly had little reason to put their faith in the Seven Shields. Some were warriors of renown, namely Claudia Levantine, but she had no place in the hierarchy of rule yet she was the defacto leader of her region. The shrine maiden Kaguya ignored her own territory, or so he had been told, but the people ceded rulership of their home to her. Why? The culture of this place confounded him. Without a doubt, he knew that Vult could have easily turned his hordes of mercenaries on Eostia and taken it by storm. The Black Dogs matched the entirety of the standing armies of the Seven Shields in numbers, but had better training, leadership, and maneuverability. They were the Imperial Guard against the Planetary Defense Force. Louk had no doubt that the average Imperial commander, placed in Vult's shoes, would have stolen the opportunity to seize control. It was far too tempting.

Especially considering his third noteworthy discrepancy: the physicality of these people. He had seen very, very few ugly people since arriving here. Ugly people, or overweight. Even the basest wretch was passing fair, and the women… Throne, they hit puberty like a Leman Russ smashing a picket fence. Small and elfin in their youth, features sharp and lithe, but devastatingly beautiful beyond that. He had yet to catch sight of a woman that was less than pleasing to the eye. Whether handsome or brawny, the people of this world matched the genetic traits of the garden worlds, yet here was obviously no evidence of genetic tampering or splicing. There were no carefully plotted genepools, or tech adepts poring over bloodlines for the best combinations. Even the beggars would have turned heads on an Imperial world.

Eostia was the perfect world. It was beautiful, innocent, and ripe for plunder.

 _Virtuoso_ was going to tear this world apart.

If the dark elf understood his thoughts, she would have paled in horror. If these ones even could. Their complexion intrigued him. It was not the darkened tone of a Nocture native, nor the sunburnt hue of a Tallarn. Hers was clean and without blemish, a natural recaf color that brought images of sweet candies to the peripherals of his thought. His tongue twitched behind his lips, brushing against the unseen caramel taste her dark eyes brought so vividly to mind. Pale amber reflected the light of the torches, causing her irises to dance mockingly. Her stern countenance was a shield against the humiliation of her confinement.

Her stubborn refusal to submit to her predicament brought fond memories lurking to the surface. He did not know whether that upset him or soothed him.

 _Virtuoso_.

If the daemon reached her, the power it could cause would be unimaginable.

Beside the deposed queen, her retainer slept fitfully. Lying on her side, knees tucked up under her chin, Chloe took short, shallow breaths, her whole body shivering with each passing of air. The silvery blonde locks of her hair spilled over her throat and back. Despite her diminutive stature, the younger dark elf possesed the musculature of a trained assassin. No fat across the entirety of her body, her muscles coiled taut under the skin. He wondered how she had trained, how she had learned. Self-taught, perhaps. What he knew of this world's demons made him doubtful the woman had trained against the orcs and imps. To lose against them would endanger her in more ways than simple defeat. She had speed and viciousness, but she was sloppy. Driven by her anger. The history there would need to be explored, someday.

The guards remained by the heavy wooden door, a few dozen paces down the passage. His simple, and threatening order to give them space had worked without question. Either the two Black Dogs had seen him in the battle outside, or they had heard the stories, but the fear in their eyes was palpable when he approached them. The rumors about him would have spread through the entire mercenary army by now. _Virtuoso_ was not a fool. It would most likely have pieced the puzzle together by now. Even if it did not know exactly who he was, or where he was, it would know something was out there.

His options were rapidly falling away.

"How did you know?"

Her voice was soft, a rich alto that tickled his ears with an unsung melody. There was dignity in her speech, a humble power that would have fooled a newcomer into thinking her a mere commoner and not the one who had once ruled over a vast army of demons by her mystic power. Which was not to slight her. Rather, she spoke as if they were equals. It was a far cry from the imperious tone she had used with the Black Dogs and Hicks.

"The numbers didn't add up" he admitted to her. "No army is so unlucky as the one you have led. They paint you as great and powerful, shrewd and cunning. Yet your armies are thoroughly and miserably defeated at every major battle. Perhaps it is the way of this world that they could accept such a thing as luck, but I know better. I have seen generals throw their armies away for personal gain, or subterfuge. You are indeed clever; you are far more clever than any of the scholars or strategists of Eostia give you credit for. As for the visions… that was more a guess, though an educated one. I have seen the Goddess of theirs in the midst of a vision. It was not something she brought on, nor was it something she had control over. It was given to her. She may have the power of insight, but only in receiving. To draw knowledge of an army far away required something else entirely."

"You are not from these lands." The queen lifted a hand from her lap and reached over to stroke the head of her bodyguard. The younger dark elf mewled softly in her sleep, her knife-ears twitching at the queen's touch. Olga regarded the woman for a moment, breaking her eye contact with Louk. The gentle concern she wore belonged to a relationship far more intimate than a simple ruler and vassal. It was motherly, parental. The Black Dogs had claimed the blonde to be a half-elf, her other half being human judging by her hair and expressiveness. Louk doubted the two were related by blood. Even with his lack of knowledge of their kind, the stark differences in their features was evidence enough.

"No."

"And you defy death."

"It is a long story."

"Perhaps you could regale me of it, someday." Her gaze returned to him, and her other hand gestured about. "I am hardly going anywhere."

"Soon" he promised. "Waiting for the right moment."

"This creature you hunted. It has remained in the vault?"

"Yes."

"Then it is as I feared." Her brows furrowed. "It is glutting on the power of the Greenwyrd. You know this."

"If I had the power to storm in and kill it, I assure you I would have by now."

"You fear it?"

The question was not intended to offend. She was testing his limits, discovering what she could of Louk. He did not mind offering truthful answers for now. She clearly did not intend to harm him or betray him.

"You cannot kill an immortal" he began. "But you can trap one. If I went to fight it now, it could defeat me, then lock me away or devise a plan to prevent me from ever being able to fight it again. I cannot afford to waste the opportunities I have. Immortality is not invincibility."

"You are immortal then." Her utter lack of shock at the announcement did not surprise him.

"Yes."

She fell silent for some time, continuing her inspection of him. Content to wait and watch, Louk let his mind wander across the faces he had seen earlier in the day. It was a subtle corrosion, _Virtuoso's_ touch. Some he attacked directly, overpowering their mortal forms and shackling their souls to its whim. Others, it infected, its consciousness seeping into them like a pleasant cold. The latter was subtle, but he knew the signs. The daemon's control was solidifying from behind the secured doors of the vault.

"I never expected it to end this way" she murmured, speaking more to herself than for his benefit.

"In a cell?"

"I intended to take my secret to the grave" she replied. "The world would not mourn my passing. I would be reviled, my memory a scourge that mothers would warn their children of. That was my plan, when I first found the Greenwyrd. I would become the monster that they all feared, but in doing so I would protect Eostia from the demons."

"What was your plan for when your power failed?"

A hint of smugness crept across her face. "I devised a spell to utterly destroy the Black Fortress. When my power failed, when the demons came for me, I would have taken as many with me as I could."

"What changed?"

"Chloe." The queen ran her fingers through her retainer's hair. "From time to time I left this castle, donned a disguise and walked amongst the people. They never knew me. None know me save Celeste herself, and her memories are those of a carefree, wild youth. We were friends once, before this. We loved to go deep into the forests and dance in the hidden glens." Her lips curved in a perfect, suggestive smirk. "Naked."

"Who was Chloe" Louk asked her, ignoring the baiting comment. His lack of response did not bother the queen. Instead, she offered a slight shrug and returned her attention to the younger elf by her side.

"I found Chloe a slave. Shackled to an animal of a human noble." Though her expression hardly changed, Louk noted the loathing that crept into her voice. "Sir John Mandeville. A pig if ever there was one."

"I have heard of him" Louk admitted.

"I took her away, and nearly killed him" she said, the emotion bleeding away as she regained control. That was a generous way to think of it. This woman had an iron grip on her emotions. "With Chloe, I gained something to live for. She is devoted to me. I do not know what I had expected, when I brought her here, but she has since refused to leave my side. She is like a child, a broken child. I cannot bear to leave her with nothing but ruin and revilement."

"So the vision Celeste received, it was because you want to live."

"Is that selfish?" She asked the question, though neither expected an answer. Of course it was not. Perhaps the queen needed to hear it spoken aloud. In such troubling times, even the strong required reassurance.

"What is the plan now? When I bring you to Celeste, will all be forgiven? I doubt it will be that easy."

"I expect nothing." Olga let out a long breath. "Perhaps in time I may repair my reputation, though I hardly care what the people think of me. Chloe's fate is all I care for."

"That is noble of you."

That elicited a single, husky chuckle from the queen. It was a wonderful sound, and Louk immediately regretted he had not been prepared to listen carefully to it.

"We must first reach Ken though, mustn't we?"

"Tonight" he promised.

"I will hold you to that" she whispered. Her amber eyes flicked past him to the guards down the passage. The door opened at the far end. "I must ask, please recover what you can for this journey. I am loathe to leave anything to the creature. My staff, especially. It is a powerful weapon."

"I will do what I can."

Turning away from her cell, he faced the incoming messenger, a member of Vult's Kuroinu. The man's eyes were clear, his features sharp and focused. For now, this one was free of the taint. Hands clasped tight by his sides, the man approached Louk at a brisk walk, eyes wavering just a little as Olga came into view. That unsuspecting, innocent slip was all the confirmation Louk could have asked for to know that this man was not under the daemon's control yet.

Louk was certain he would have to kill the man anyways.

"Kin would like a word" the messenger informed him.

 **-v-**

The Dark Queen's personal chambers lacked flair. In his mind's eyes, he had pictured a grand suite, with hanging tapestries and rolling carpets, shelves of trophies or books stretching the walls, and priceless works of art arrayed strategically to please her sensibilities. That was what he had known. That was what he had expected.

A servant may as well have lived here.

A plain, faded bed occupied the center of the room, the covers rumpled and tossed to one side, evidence that the most recent occupant had suffered a sleepless night. The sheets were well-worn, bordering on tattered, and the pillows were thinned from the weight of her head. Cold bare stones stretched the length of the floor without relief. No decoration hung on the walls. Save for a few strong torches and a a pair of thick slit windows letting in the pale light of the sun, the room held nothing of note.

Standing in the warming beams of sunlight, Kin the mage held Olga Discordia's staff in both hands. Keeping the black-iron staff perpendicular from the floor, the man poured his attention into the glittering stone at the tip of the staff, his eyes both sharp as a blade yet vacant and drifting elsewhere. Subtly twitching fingers danced on the staff. The tapping motions were part of some ritual, the meaning of which Louk was content to let remain undiscovered.

"It is a beautiful thing" the mage called out, not turning from the staff. A faint glow winked out from his eyes, a reflection of the sunlight. "I went down to the dungeons this morning, to speak with our prisoner, to see if she had any words of wisdom or power that I might glean. But, I could not bring myself to even ask. The sight of it. Olga Discordia, the dread Dark Queen, the ruler of the Demon Legion. Kneeling before me, bowing before my power. It was…" the mage's voice trailed off for a moment, and his final word was lost in a breathy gasp.

"It was not your power she knelt before" Louk challenged, eyeing the other man for his response. "The Black Dogs took the fortress, not just you."

"Bah, they are tools. Minions, ants crawling about the heels of their betters." Kin's lips twisted in a scowl. "She was on her knees, Reaper. Her knees! I had dreamed of this day for so long; I had thought myself ready for it, when the time came. But now, I am at a one more remains. Celeste Lucross, the Goddess Reborn. Only she holds more power than I."

"You speak as if Olga's power is lost."

"Lost?" Kin shrugged. His gaze suddenly snapped across the Louk, and he hefted the staff with one hand. "Of course it is not. But she is broken. Her seat of power has been taken away, her authority is no more. She is nothing, now. A relic of a past time, soon to be swept aside in the precession of history."

"Do you think that is how it will go?"

"It will" Kin confirmed. The soft glow in his eyes remained, though he stepped out of the light. Louk's hackles rose, triggered by the near imperceptible tremor that rippled through the room. It was a peal of hunger, longing. The corrupted taint of _Virtuoso_. "Oh, it will all be swept aside. Olga Discordia, the Seven Shields. Celeste Lucross. I will rule over them all. All shall fall before my might, my power. My supremacy!"

"That sounds nice" Louk agreed, carefully maintaining his distance from the mage, hiding the maneuver by going over to inspect the bed. "And how will that happen?"

"This world is ripe" Kin continued, not quite focusing on Louk. He set the staff down on the edge of the bed, moving as if to circle it, but hesitated when Louk skirted around to the opposite side. A frown creased the mage's mouth, and Kin crossed his arms. "Everything is out there, waiting to be taken. I simply need to have faith, and to take it."

"Faith?" Louk snorted. "I was never much for faith."

"Oh, but you don't know what I know. What I have learned." The glow in the mage's eyes shifted, gleaming manically. "No one knows the secret ways. The hidden paths."

"I can assure you, those paths are well-trod by many before you. All fell to ruin and damnation."

"I believe you" Kin said with a halting, shrill giggle. They continued circling around the bed, each man eyeing the other. "And each drew closer to the prize. I shall walk over their bones to claim it. I will claim it!"

"At what cost?"

"Damn the cost!" Kin's arms leapt out, and Louk reached for his sidearm. But the mage merely gestured grandly and turned in a flourish. Thinking quickly, Louk snatched up Olga's staff and hid it behind his back. "What would I not surrender to rule this world? What price is too steep? To have those cows kneeling before me, begging for a whisper of my favor. It is too great a prize to turn away from. I have longed for it. I have bled for it. I deserve it."

"So you do" Louk grunted, angling back towards the door. Though his back remained turned, Kin snapped his finger, and the reinforced wooden door slammed shut, propelled by a chill wind that burned Louk's exposed skin.

"Ah, I was not done talking. It is rude to walk away." The mage half-turned, offering a sneering profile view of his face. A strange waxiness crept across the man's features, and it turned fully, regarding him with a too-deep grin, presenting rows of needlethin teeth and twin snaking tongues. Violet coloring bloomed from a dozen pores, flooding his skin and turning his flesh a rich shadowy complexion.

" _Louk Shannegh_. _The Hound. Born of Blood and Death. Did you think I was unaware of your presence?_ "

" _Virtuoso_." Louk let out a forced breath and gripped his power sword by the hilt. The powered blade would hurt it, but in truth the power field meant little to a creature of the Immaterium. It was the elder blade that would cause it harm. The ancient blade had been forged in the time before mankind remembered, during the dark ages of pre-flight humankind. Durendal, it was named. And with it Louk had cleaved many foes asunder. The hungry edge of the sword was as sharp as the day of its forging, lined with eldritch runes that he did not understand. Yet it proved its worth time and again against daemonkin. It had never been tested against something this powerful yet. He felt the heat of the blade seeping out from its scabbard, the runes growing hot in the presence of the warp presence.

" _I am still waiting_ " it tittered. " _I left you a present at the door_."

"You aren't here" Louk accused the creature. "Still hiding like a coward?"

" _The spider lies in wait. The snake lurks by the water. And I have found such wonderful things here in the depths of her castle. Things that even you could not imagine,_ Reaper."

"I am going to destroy you." His voice grew stiff, teeth clenching tight as he resisted the urge to draw his blade. Not until he had the monster directly before him. He would only have one chance to finish it.

" _Many have tried, dear one. And many will. I know all about what you did to the Martyred One. We all know that it cannot be done again._ "

"I'll settle for hurling you back into the misery you came from."

" _Will you?_ " The daemonic visage rippled. " _Perhaps another time. I have held you long enough. Run on back,_ Reaper _. I don't want you to miss the show._ "

The air in the room dropped, plunging suddenly as if it had grown too heavy, draining the breath from his lungs. Louk struggled to stand for a moment, fighting to maintain his footing as a surge of pain spilled across his muscles. His vision went white for a moment, and he nearly lost consciousness.

Kin the mage collapsed on the bed, blood trickling from his nostrils and eyes. A vacant groan rose from the man, and Louk greedily sucked in air. For a stunned moment, he wavered, reorienting himself as the room wobbled. When his sense of balance returned, he staggered to the door and yanked it open. The mage was not a threat. Judging by the agonized wheezing he was already dying. The daemon's words had set off warning bells in his head.

Bait.

He cursed loudly as the castle corridors flew past.

Simple, easy, bait.

Olga and her retainer had been left vulnerable. Days of waiting, poised for the daemon to strike, and he had allowed himself to be pulled out of position. It was inexcusable. It was potentially catastrophic. If the daemon took the Dark Queen, its power would multiply far beyond what Vult's physical form could allow.

The door to the cells stood closed. Not bothering to wait for the guards inside to remove the bar, Louk threw his shoulder into the door and tore it from its hinges. The iron squeal ripped down the passage, and the guards leapt back in surprise, drawing their weapons with practiced efficiency to the potential threat. It did not matter who they were, the daemon had made its move. It knew of Louk's presence, and it stood ready for him. The time had come to escape, and nothing would prevent that. Durendal flashed in the torchlight, and the first guard crumpled with a deep gash across his chest. Snapping his elbow in the other direction, Louk caught the other guard in the face. The initial crack of shattering cartilage was drowned almost immediately by the crunching of the man's skull smashing against the stone of the corridor.

Leaving their corpses where they fell, Louk stalked past the the dead and approached the cell. Olga had been taken away. Icy guilt crept across his gut at the sight of the crumpled, battered figure of Chloe; a purple bruise covered the side of her face, the broken cheekbone showing under her skin. Curled in a helpless ball, the elf shied away from him, eyes shut tight, wincing as his shadow fell over her.

"What happened" Louk demanded.

"Bastard human" the elf hissed.

A single blow from Durendal separated the lock, and Louk pulled the door open. "We don't have much time. Do you want to save her, or do you want to wallow in self-pity?"

The half-elf slowly uncurled, wincing. "They took her to the throne room. Why aren't you with them?"

"I am not a Black Dog."

When Chloe rose to her feet, she barely came to his shoulder. Peering up at him with distrusting scrutiny, she stretched out a nimble finger towards his eyes. "Your eyes are clear. The creature's touch is not on you."

"As I said, I am not a Black Dog." Stepping out of the doorway, he motioned for her to follow. The half-elf limped into the passage. Before this he had not paid her much attention. She was young; he knew little of the aging of these _elves_ , but the marks of youth were still fresh on her. The suppleness of her body, the sharpness of her features, the smaller bust and thinner lips. By his best estimate, she was equivalent to a human just a few years past puberty.

The half-cloak on her back slipped, the frayed ties sliding loose, and for the briefest moment he saw her uncovered lower back. There were scars there, many scars. The long stretches of whip marks made most of them, long since healed but not faded. He had noted similar marks teasing out from under her skirt. Welted lines creeping down the insides of her thighs.

Sensing his gaze, Chloe self-consciously pulled her cloak back over her shoulder. Her cheeks darkened in a blush. "We need to hurry. I do not trust their intentions."

"If you knew their intentions" Louk growled, "you would weep."

"I need a blade" the half-elf muttered, casting her gaze across the dead humans. With each step, her body straightened, and the pain of her injuries seemed to fade. The fury was rising in her, simmering back to the surface of her thoughts. Louk had no doubt that with a blade in her hand, Chloe was a match for any five Black Dogs.

But there were thousands.


	8. The Spider and the Flies

**Author's Notes: So due to some life stuff, I had basically a full weekend off with nothing to do, so I banged out the next chapter for you guys. Hope y'all enjoy it.**

 **Reviewers-  
ManwithaPlan113- Nah, he ain't dead yet. It takes more than a simple whatever-the-hell-that-was to kill a minion of Chaos.  
Ronmr- Yeah, there's this whole pride thing where humans love to think they can fix everything. Let's be honest. One single man against a powerful daemon of Chaos? he was boned to begin with. Which makes this that much more interesting.  
Abdiel Amaro- Aw, but Slaanesh just wants everyone to have a good time, amirite? Heehee  
SomeGuyOverHere- No, it's an 'elder sword.' Not Eldar. The name was entirely intentional, because when your boss is millenia old, he's bound to have some pretty nasty relics hidden about. Making it Eldar would have been a bit too fanboyish for me. That being said, it doesn't rule out a bit of Eldar trickery in the future. Glad you like it. Olga is becoming this weird character in my head where I don't even place her with the original story anymore. She's basically ascended to a standard anime character for me, if you know what I mean. Which isn't to say there won't be snusnu in the future...**

* * *

 **The Dungeons of the Black Fortress  
Minutes earlier**

"Forgive me" Chloe whispered. The young half-elf sat cross-legged, her head bowed, hands clasped together with elbows resting on her knees. Silvery-blonde hair trailed over those hands, spilled down her left side, and hid her shame from Olga. There was no denying the shame in her voice. Humiliation, and shame. That of a child that had failed her parent in fetching water from the well, or left the cows out to pasture and now one of them had wandered off.

It nearly broke her heart to hear the despair in Chloe's voice.

"It was my lack of power that brought this upon us" Olga stated, forcing her tone to remain listless and even. She wanted nothing more than to wrap her young retainer in a hug, to comfort her and promise her that everything would work out for them. But the guards eyed them constantly, and to show such weakness would only endanger them. They had only each other now. They had always had only each other. The situation had changed, but Olga trusted in them both. She was less certain of the mysterious Louk Shannegh.

The guards called him 'The Reaper.' What that meant she did not know, but she had more than an inkling of the source of the fear for which they held him in. It was evident in all the Black Dogs mercenaries. Those that had not been touched by the creature, that is. Though she had not seen the man in action, Olga knew without a doubt he was a force to be reckoned with, an enemy to be feared. Though he claimed to be their ally, and she believed him fully in that regard, she was not so quick to place their lives in his hands. Many made promises. Until he proved himself, she refused to let her life rely solely upon his word.

"You have always served me well" Olga promised the quiet half elf.

"You honor me, my queen." Chloe parted her hands in supplication. "I only regret that I have one life for you. Had I a hundred dark elves, we could ha-"

"The legion served as expected. They are a lawless horde, not a disciplined army. Yet even that could not hold back the power of this _Virtuoso_. I fear it was destined for this castle to fall. Even an army of our kin could not hold the hunger at bay."

Though her words were free of bitterness, they caused the young half elf to lift her face, revealing her reddened eyes and tear streaked face.

"I will never forsake my loyalty to you, no matter what happened. Next time, I will die for you. You will not be taken by that monster. Not while I breathe!"

Olga merely nodded before casting her gaze up, to the ceiling. A contemplative silence fell between them, and Olga let her mind drift across the mysterious face of Louk Shannegh. His body was that of a young man, still fit and full in his prime, yet his eyes bore the weight of years uncounted. The ancient patience in his gaze, the thoughtfulness in his speech… he claimed immortality, and while she had no reason or desire to disprove that claim, her curiosity gnawed at her. Immortality itself was not something she particularly desired; elves were nearly immortal as it was, and she had seen enough of life to know that endless youth would prove tiresome after an age or so. Rather, the cause of his immortality weighed on her. The man had an aura of wrongness about him, a subtle shift in the air where he walked, in the pattern of his speech and in the lines of his body. Like he was there, but the world shied away from him, tried to separate itself from his form. Like he did not belong. That made her very curious, and such curiosity, she knew, could potentially endanger them all.

Still, she dared to imagine what the truth of this _Virtuoso_ was, and how it connected to the enigma that was Louk Shannegh.

A small smile threatened to spill across Chloe's face. Catching the twitching of lips in the corner of her eye, Olga glanced down at the young woman.

"You have that look" Chloe murmured. "The exact same as when you used to sit on the throne. You really are a queen. No matter where you are."

The rest of it did not have to be spoken. Indeed, Chloe bit her lip, lowered her gaze, and hid behind her clenched fists.

 _Even though I am losing my dark arts and am imprisoned in a cell_ , Olga finished. _I will always be her master in her mind. The poor child. I took her from one hell only to bring her to this one._

The passage door opened. Olga could not contain the apprehensive grimace that stole across her expression, if only for the beat of her heart, and shifted to inspect the approaching cluster of men. The one called Hicks led them. He was a tall man, with a thin frame and a knife-like nose accentuating his thin, biting features. The light of the creature burned in his eyes, their natural color faded to a coal black lit by the violet flames of binding. That is what she referred to them as, for now. Until her mysterious stranger could give her a better answer. The man strode fearlessly up to their cell, and with a simple gesture sent the guards scrambling to unlock it.

"The boss is calling for you" Hicks announced. Lean hands rested on his waist, thumbs tucked into his pants. Chloe's daggers decorated his belt, sheathed in little slips of leather he had cut crudely into the piece. Chloe glared menacingly up at him, her rage visible, but held in check. Good girl.

Olga started to rise, but Chloe leapt to her feet. Her retainer slipped between them, spitefully crossing her arms in front of their jailers.

"Not you, you stupid cunt." Hicks sniffed in derision and stared past her, at Olga herself. "Looks like it's time for you to shine, your _majesty_."

Several of the men hooted and hollered, letting out lewd whistles. There were eight of them in total, including their guards. Hicks put a hand on Chloe's shoulder, aiming to shove her aside. Expression stern with determination, the smaller woman refused to budge.

"This one's all starved for cock" Hicks jeered. More crude gestures and sounds came from the others.

Her fears confirmed, Olga suppressed a shudder. She bottled that fear, hid it deep inside her soul. She would not show anything before them. They were vermin, nothing more. Animals clawing for scraps. Did they intend to rape her, and Chloe? She would die before that could be inflicted upon them. "Wait your turn, hussy. Ain't no one called for you yet, but you can bet we'll be taking you up soon enough."

Some of these had been good men, once. Most of them, probably. Anger seeped into her consciousness. Anger at the vile _Virtuoso_ for what it had done to them. They showed no remorse, no humanity. They may as well have been orcs now. If this was what the creature could do, the power it held, Olga feared for what would become of Eostia.

"I…" Chloe's confusion shattered her sternness. "How absurd! Starv… she is a queen you rat!"

" _She is a queen_ " Hicks mocked, causing Chloe's face to flush with indignation. "She'll be the queen of cocksucking, you can bet your fine ass on that. Just look at those lips. I can't wait to bust a but in all her holes. Now, if you would, _your majesty_."

The man shoved her to the side. Chloe staggered, slamming into the bars separating the cells.

"Keep outta my way, girl. Don't think we'll hold back on you just cause you got tits."

"No!" She stumbled forwards, throwing herself onto her knees in front of Olga. "Please, just take me. Take me instead. Leave her alone!"

"Chloe" Olga whispered, not daring to intervene. The men were getting riled, and Chloe was the source of their growing anger. If she stepped forward, it would go badly for them both. So she whispered to her retainer, and begged her to stand down.

"Ah said," Hicks growled, "no one's called for you yet. So quit being such a hassle!"

He kicked out, catching Chloe in the stomach. Her small frame lifted off the floor, breath exploding out of her lungs in an agonized gasp. Quick as a flash, faster than Olga would have thought possible, Hicks dropped to a knee, grabbed her by her ponytail, and slammed her face first into the stone. Her cheekbone cracked audibly, and the young half elf let out a muted yelp. Grinding her face mercilessly into the stone, Hicks leaned over her and breathed into her ear. "You get up again, and I'll rape ya to death right here in front of your queen. Then I'll cut your arms and legs off and hand your corpse off to the boys. You got me?"

Olga watched, rigid with terror, as tears poured down Chloe's cheeks. Blood mingled with her tears, and Olga bit her tongue to hold her silence. Every muscle in her body had gone taut. She could kill him. Right here, a strike to his unprotected neck. Perhaps she could kill another two or three with her bare hands before they overpowered her. But then she and Chloe would be in for a far worse fate. There was still a chance.

"Enough" Olga murmured. Rising to her feet, she wiped her robes clean. "You have made your point. Chloe, my dear. Stay down. Do not jeopardize your life for me."

"Lady Olga" Chloe whimpered.

"Fear not, Chloe. You need not bring pain upon yourself any longer." She smoothed her hair, running her fingers to set it properly, and stared at the leering men with an imperious frown. "It is the unshakable truth that I have brought misery to the humans for centuries upon centuries, reigning from this Black Citadel as the Dark Queen. As a queen, it is my duty to accept my fate in these final moments. I will neither run nor hide."

"This one gets it" Hicks grunted. He slammed Chloe into the floor once more before jumping to his feet, rocking once as he regained his balance, and gestured dramatically to the door. "Can't say I hate a girl who knows her place."

Her gaze was filled with neither scorn nor disgust. Those emotions were beneath her. These men were beneath her notice. Disdain it was. Absolute, unrestrained, disdain. That these worms had come before her, such pitiful beings claiming to belong to a higher power, lapping at the dew from a great oak tree and claiming its strength. They did not know power. They could not imagine the true definition of the word.

"Alrighty then, right this way, if you please."

Hicks led her along her own passages, guided her through her own castle. It was humiliating, but she bore it in stoic silence. This was not how she had imagined her end. The words of Hicks and his associates tickled at her nerves, nipped at the fears she had long since mastered in the company of the orcs, imps, ogres and trolls. Violation. It had always been a danger, but she had ever held the upper hand. Now that hand was gone, and she had no doubts that these men, pathetic beings corrupted by the damned _Virtuoso_ would be ever fouler than her Legion.

But when Hicks led her into the throne room, her own fears were revealed to be inconsequential to the reality of the creature's doings. The moment she entered the room, Olga couldn't help but furrow her brow. A sour, musky odor assaulted her nose, filled the air like a pungent perfume. It was the mixed odor of men, of orcs, and sweat. The assembled bodies clearly had not bathed in days, since at least the battle outside her fortress. Their bodies stank of sweat, dirt, blood and alcohol. The concentration of them made it that much worse. Horse stables smelled fairer than this odorous throng.

The musky scent offended her.

A hundred Black Dogs mercenaries filled the room, alongside, to her horror, as many orcs. Countless imps and even a handful of ogres filled the rest of the periphery, and every single one stared openly at her, eyes burning with those violet flames. Forcing her growing dread aside, Olga walked through the room with the grace expected of a queen, ignoring the chuckling figures to either side of her. Some called out to her, jeers she had heard in the late night taverns of city slums. It was easy to ignore sounds from something as banal as garbage. These creatures were trash. Giving them the attention of her spite was not worth her time. She continued forwards, approaching the throne that had once been hers. That had once been her grandfather's.

She gazed unflinchingly at the man perched on her throne, though every bone in her body screamed to run away and hide. His presence was overwhelming. That observation was not one of reason, but of instinct. It was nothing as simple as the confident way he carried himself, nor his imposing physique. It was the blood.

Olga had seen Vult before, years ago during one of her hidden trips to Eostia. It had been in Ken itself, during a victory parade after the Black Dogs had utterly crushed an army she had sent into the fens of northern Ken. Celeste trusted her visions implicitly, and in doing so have killed thousands of the vile demons, while losing little in return. At the time, Vult had been a bloody man. He had spilled blood time and time again, bathing his soul in the wretchedness of killing until it had soaked into his very being.

And yet he had been a good man. He was a man she had been forced to recognize. Though his lackeys were insects, incapable of understanding her grand goals and might, the sheer magnitude of his presence forced her to acknowledge him. He was a man of intelligence, of wit, charm and strength. He had been the ideal man, even in her own eyes. Not quite a warrior-poet, but a mighty general who understood more than just the butcher's work of battle. For a short time, she had even fancied him, and considered approaching him with the secrets of her doings. Of all those in Eostia, he may have been the one to understand her, to appreciate what she did for them all. She may have even dared to imagine moving on with her life, after the destruction of the Black Fortress.

This Vult could not have been more an opposite.

Darkness surrounded him, bleeding the light from the torches into shadow, concealing his features like a cloak. What she could make out of his expression was not bloodthirsty or sadistic, nor was it sullen or gloomy. It was, in fact, relaxed. A carefree, wicked smile danced across his gruff face as he violated her with an impudent gaze. His lustful stare was not unfamiliar, but it chilled Olga to her bones. Other beings pictured her naked, imagined what she looked like under her regal clothing. This one had the power to make that imagination real. The realization shook her, if only for a moment, but it came with a dawning horror that she had let her calm and collected expression slip.

The change in her expression had been slight and short-lived. No ordinary mortal would have caught it, but the flickering light behind this Vult's leer told her he had. Her humiliation had only begun, she feared. She smoothed her expression regardless, refusing to admit that a mere human had unsettled her. She was the Dark Queen, after all. The most feared woman in all of Eostia. What was a single human compared to her?

But he was not a human anymore, was he?

"So…" Vult drawled, idly kicking one leg up to rest on the arm of her throne. "You're the Dark Queen."

The darkness in his gaze clawed at her soul. Unable to conceal her discomfort from him, but unwilling to reveal it to the rest of the gathered men, she only cast her gaze downwards and remained silent.

"Gonna ignore me then? Whatever." He gestured with a silver goblet, the one she had used. "I'm in a pretty good mood right now, so I'll let that slide. Although, I must say it's all thanks to you, your majesty. Your land is now mine. The orcs are mine. _You_. Are mine."

There was a flicker in his words, a barely noticeable warbling in his tone. She allowed her eyes to flick up, for a brief moment only, and studied him. Vult showed none of the signs of the creature she had seen on the others. No violet fire in his eyes or pale obedience in expression. He appeared to utterly normal, so to speak. But it was there, in his voice. That silky-smooth simper of the creature _Virtuoso_. Had it possessed him? Had the two joined souls? She did not know, but she knew that such an answer would hardly benefit her. It was too late for that knowledge to serve any real purpose.

A snicker of disgust sprang unbidden from her lips. "Do you truly think you have won? Won what? A wasteland. This land has been barren for centuries. I ensured that. I scorched the plains, I salted the fields, I purged it of all life. I made it a hellhole that only the demons could live in. You are the ruler of an inhospitable wasteland. That is what you have won."

" _The fly pulls free a leg, and thinks itself free_ " Vult hissed, his voice growing silkier, smoother, more sinister. Though his face did not change, Olga sensed the sudden chill spreading through the room. The soft current of cold that tickled her skin. " _No, there is so much more here than a wasteland._ "

Vult's smile became more brazen, pulling at the corners of his face and extending beyond what a man's should. He continued to speak, but it was clear he was not addressing her anymore. " _My poor, needy men. I have not rewarded you yet. You marched with me to battle against the vicious, stinking animals of the Dark Queen's Legions._ "

Mercenary and demon alike hooted and hollered at his words, shaking their fists in the air. They shuffled forward, closing around her, hedging her in with a ring of flesh. Their open gazes twisted her stomach; even Olga could not contain her trepidation at the shift in the room. Like a faucet being torn open, an oppressive air had filled the room. The musky stench of sweat and odor did not seem to prevalent now. In its place, a heady sweetness that she knew was wrong. She did not understand how, but she knew it was wrong.

" _This is the first time many of us have laid eyes on a pure dark elf, isn't it? She is quite a delight._ "

"Doesn't seem much different from the dark elves back home" one called out. It was Hicks, she noted. Vult's lieutenant stood the closest to her, sizing her up from behind with glee.

" _Oh, but this one is puuure. Untouched, unsullied. The ones you knew were hardly half-bloods. A treat such as this would fetch a king's ransom, even were she a common household slave._ "

Her attention was stolen back to the Vult on her throne. His eyes had shifted from their dark, harrowing brown to a gleaming violet. Two tongues flicked across his teeth. She shivered, images springing unbidden to her mind of what those tongues could do to her body.

" _What matters_ ," the daemon-Vult tittered, " _Is that dark elves can bear human spawn. Can't they, your majesty?_ "

Her knuckles tightened until they were white. Blanching at the thought, Olga closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. They would not break her. Her jaw shook from the tightness with which she clenched it. Her nails threatened to cut into her skin. This would not be the end of it. Slowly, silently, she began drawing what power remained in her. Her magic drew about her, smothered by the oppressive air of this… presence, but it came on. Pooling that magic into her fists, she began reciting the ancient words in her mind.

And when she raised her head, her expression was free of fear. A scornful smirk was on her lips, and she gazed imperiously at the creature on her throne.

"You will not have me, you wretched insects. I defy you with my last breath."

Releasing the spell, she slammed her palms together. A wave of energy exploded outwards, hurling the ranks of men and orcs backwards, cracking skulls against pillars and shattering bones that fell in awkward angles. In the wake of the force rose a transparent barrier, a shield of magic she had drawn from an old spellbook discovered deep in the vaults of this very castle.

"This was not how I hoped it would end" she whispered, uttering a silent prayer for the soul of her retainer. "I am sorry, Chloe. But I choose our death before defilement. We all die here. You, me, the abomination _Virtuoso_ , and all those affected by his corrupt touch."

"I am the Dark Queen" she proclaimed, raising her hands over her head. "I choose death over disgrace. You will join me in hell!"

Her powers were still weak, drained from her reliance on the Greenwyrd. Without her staff, it would be difficult. But she had the will and the strength to see this through. Her soul burned with the fires of untamed magic as she drew deep into the earth, stole the breath from the wind, pulled the magic tight around her body.

A bolt of magic struck her shield. The force of its splintered her arcane shield, a spell of ancient power that should have been nigh impenetrable, and hurled it aside in a flash of jagged shards that flayed dozens of mercenaries and orcs to the bone. The loss of her shield whipped across her body like a strap snapping mid-gallop. Olga cried in pain as she was hurled to the ground, her body going numb from the shock of the blow. A buzzing ring filled her ears, and her vision wavered drunkenly.

Clawing over onto her stomach, she tried to rise, to grasp fitfully at the magic. It fled from her, skittering out of reach. A pair of armored boots crunched down on the stones before her face, half-obscured by loose strands of her hair.

" _You dared to think I was unaware of your pride_ " the daemon-Vult gigled. " _So much for the Dark Queen's cunning. You walked right into my trap. Elves are known for their resilient bodies. It takes a lot of work for you to try and just kill yourself. And that's how it works too, right? Interrupt a spell, disrupt the caster midstream, and you sap their abilities. You just stripped yourself of your own power._ "

Olga chewed on her lip, frantically reaching for the magic that fled from her touch. Rising unsteadily to her feet, she tried to make sense of what had just happened. But her body felt… drained. Her limbs weak and useless, barely strong enough to even hold her upright. Her head spun wildly. The dim light of the torches burned like suns. It took her several long moments to realize she was panting for breath. Gods, what had done that? Her spells were unknown to any…

Kin, the mage.

He stood beside Vult. Or, what had been Kin the mage stood beside Vult. The lively and arrogant man that had questioned her in the dungeons had undergone a rapid, and grotesque transformation. The flesh had peeled from his bones, leaving a filmy layer of sinew covering the pulse muscles and tendons of his body. Gaping eye sockets held the charred remains of eyes, two husk-like orbs that should have melted away but rolled loose in their sockets. Despite their loss, and the fact that he had no right to be breathing, much less living, the mage moved as if he were unharmed. And he held the very spellbook she had pored over for so many decades. It had taken her years to master those spells. This mage had done so in mere days. There was no earthly power that could do so. _Virtuoso_ was truly greater than she had imagined.

And she had just played right into its hands.

"I am not finished yet" Olga murmured, her voice slurred. Placing her hands over her abdomen, she stumbled through a few quick words, too quickly for Kin to stop them. A faint red light wrapped around her, soothing her like a warm blanket on a cold day. Gathering over her belly, it coalesced into a brilliant design, glowing like metal straight out of the forge.

The daemon-Vult eyed the design curiously, saying nothing. But Kin let out a shrill, clacking laugh.

"She still defies you" the skeletal mage howled. "A seal over her womb. She thinks to protect herself from the final violation."

"This is my… last… stand" Olga grunted. Dizziness flooded her skull. Fighting to remain standing, she closed her eyes and pictured, just for a moment, Chloe waiting for her in the cells. She would survive this. She had to survive. "My body is sacred. It… an inviolable domain. I may not be able to stop you, but I will not let you have your way with me."

The bastard seemed to enjoy her resistance.

" _My precious Kin,_ " it breathed, reaching back to run a clawed finger along the skeletal mage's jaw. The claw drew blood, a dark oily substance that flowed after the claw even once it left the mage's face. " _What ever shall we do?_ "

"I… do not know" Kin admitted, his teeth chattering.

" _Then we shall have more time to enjoy breaking her, while you search._ " The daemon-Vult took a step forward. If Olga had tried to retreat, she would have collapsed in exhaustion.

"This seal… never be broken" she promised. Her words carried far more conviction than she held. It was a weak seal, formed hastily. A mage of Kin's level, with her spellbook, could break it in time. But she needed to believe that would not happen.

" _Unfortunately for you_ " the creature hissed, leaning forwards until its tongues flicked an eyelash away from her, " _I have all time at my disposal. There are no such things as 'never' and 'impossible' for the children of gods._ _Hearing you claim otherwise makes me…_ " the tongues caressed her ear. Olga nearly wept as its saliva trickled along her lobe. The sensation was like fire. Her breath caught in her throat, and she bit her tongue to keep from whimpering. " _Hard. Please, continue to fight. A prize taken without struggle it no prize at all."_

It retreated suddenly, pulling away. Olga refused to open her eyes. "Louk Shannegh will come for me."

" _I would expect nothing less_ " the daemon-Vult replied. Turning to summon its minions, it addressed the crowd. Those that had survived stood again, a little more than half the original amount. The dead lay forgotten, ignored. Licking bloodied lips and wiping drool from their chins, the mercenaries and orcs closed back in around her. " _As I said, your reward. The spoils at the end of a long road. I offer to you, the virgin dark elf queen: Olga Discordia. Eat her up!_ "

Rough arms grabbed her and pulled her to the ground. A man grabbed each limb, forcing her legs wide, and for several agonizing moments they all crowded over her, gaping at her body and passing crude comments. An adventurous hand gripped her skirt and tore it apart, eliciting a cheer from the men. The two sets of hands grabbed her corset and repeated the move, while a third snapped her underwear free.

For a breathless moment, the crowd went silent. Staring in awe at her naked body, they ogled and admired. Olga was certain if she could have died from shame, she would have. To have so many sets of eyes violating her without protection; they may as well have killed her. Her face paled as men and orc alike began to adjust their pants. She knew what was coming. Though she had never seen it firsthand, she had a good enough understanding from the demons that had served her. But she refused to cry. To show anything before these vermin would allow them to win, to have power over her. She would endure it.

They could take her body, but they could not take her dignity.

The stench of their cocks stirred her stomach, nearly gagging her. Even now, she refused to struggle. To do so would only damage her own pride, and excite them to perhaps even crueler humiliation.

Hicks pushed his way through the crowd. Bloody scratches covered his face, now showing more blood than flesh, yet he did not seem to feel any pain. Forcing the man closest to her aside, her knelt between her feet and leaned over her, his terrible grin speckled with crimson droplets. A rough hand grabbed her breast and began to yank and pinch. Olga stifled a groan of pain.

"After all these years ruling a bunch of sex-starved monsters, I'd have thought this one a total slut" Hicks joked. The assembled crowd roared with laughter. "Looks like she really is a virgin though. But let's make sure."

Pulling back, Hicks settled his knees against her thighs, pressing them painfully apart, and placed his thumbs on either side of her most sacred place. Olga averted her eyes, trying desperately to see the ceiling, to find some innocent place to focus her gaze to help her survive this humiliation. But the brutes crowded around her, encompassing her in their shadows.

His thumbs dug deep into her skin, and pulled apart. She felt her labi spread, and a cheer erupted among the persons at her feet.

"She's bona-fide!" Hicks shrieked. "Well, fuck all y'all, I'm going to tear her cherry open and give y'all my slopp-"

A thunderclap bang erupted as the massive iron doors of the throne room swung open, propelled as if by the force of a dozen ogres. All eyes turned, most in shock as one of the doors groaned painfully before ripping free of the wall mounting and collapsing with enough force to shake the ground. Hicks flinched, his eyes growing wide as saucers.

And a red bolt of lightning sliced across his face.

There was no screaming at first, yelling or shrieking or any of that. Just the rapid thumping of boots as Louk Shannegh charged down the faded carpet. He held a box, a glowing box that spat lightning that shrieked like the wails of dead spirits. Each bolt of lightning struck a Black Dog with devastating force, punching holes in their bodies yet not knocking them away. Five of them died before the Black Dogs even began to respond. The four men that had held her down all toppled lifelessly on top of her, burying her under their corpse-weight. Hicks fell away, disappearing into the crowd as they sprang to life.

Covered by the dead, she could not see what followed. But she heard the panicked cries, the screams of agony, and the meaty slicing of blades through flesh. Her sensitive ears, still throbbing from the daemon-Vult's touch, ached for the sound of Louk's presence. She knew it was him. He had come to save her. Unable to even move, she whispered a silent prayer of protection for him, and pushed weakly against the bodies. The rancid stench of cooked flesh overwhelmed her, making her retch and her head spin.

One by one, the bodies were torn away. A pair of slim hands gripped the one over her face and yanked it free. Chloe's battered and worried face loomed over her, splattered blood dripping down her cheeks.

"My queen" Chloe huffed, sucking in a breath. A Black Dog rushed at her from behind. Without even looking, Chloe hurled a crude human knife. The blade struck the man in the throat, and he stumbled off-balance, swinging wildly as he staggered past Chloe and dropped to his knees. "Quickly."

Grabbing her under her shoulders, Olga's loyal retainer dragged her free of the last two corpses. Blinking back the sickly feeling swimming in her belly, Olga frantically cast her gaze about for their savior.

Louk Shannegh stood alone before the crowd of Black Dogs, a bloody trail of bodies marking where his path of destruction had led. Fifteen fallen dogs, animals, slaughtered by the whistling sword in his hands. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart hammered in her chest with a sudden, inexplicable stab of terror for the man. The daemon-Vult stood before her throne, gazing down at Louk Shannegh with contempt. At his side, the deathly-pale mage muttered voiceless incantations, hands gesturing in spasmadic, uncontrolled motions. She could sense the magic gathering in the air. They all could. The static crackle of energy rubbing against reality. The mage was preparing a powerful spell.

"We must… stop him" she gasped.

"No!" Chloe pulled insistently, helping Olga to her feet, yet dragging her back to the doors. "Your life alone matters. He will hold them off. If he dies, he dies."

The Black Dogs stood more than fifty strong, before the throne, yet they held back, eyeing each other as much as the lone man before them. The daemon-Vult barked an order in a tongue that raked at her mind; Chloe whimpered and staggered to a knee, clutching at one ear as blood trickled down the side of her head. Six of the orcs rushed at Louk Shannegh, three from each side of the mob. The man's form vanished. He moved so quickly he might have been two men, had Olga not known otherwise. The blade lashed out six times, guided with unerring accuracy, and the orcs fell beside each other, slain so quickly it might as well have been an act of a god.

" _Virtuoso_ " Louk Shannegh shouted, in a voice that was terrifyingly not what she had heard before. This voice was deep, evil, and howled like the wolves at night. "I have come for your skull!"

" _What fly challenges the spider_ " the daemon-Vult spat, its snaking tongues licking along its mouth. " _Usurper. You play at powers you do not understand. You cannot control the rage inside you, young one. Come to me, and I will teach you all about…_ control."

Another group of Black Dogs rushed forwards to their death. In the hubbub of screaming voices and flying limbs, Olga caught sight of her precious black staff, tucked safely on Louk Shannegh's back in a sling.

"My staff!" Prying one of Chloe's arms free, Olga pushed Chloe away and limped forwards. The mage turned its eyes on her, and Olga nearly blanched at the sight of its empty sockets, bleeding orbs of darkness that held no vision. Stretching out her hand, she summoned a current of air that snatched at Louk Shannegh's back. Her staff ripped free of the rope he had fashioned into a sling for it. Spinning wildly, it flew to her hand.

The cool, refreshing touch of her staff sparked a ripple of energy through her, a cascade of magic surging back into her soul as the binding spell burst apart. Her lungs filled with a heady rush of air too pure for the blasted wastes of Garan. Toes and fingers went numb from the overwhelming energy coursing through her veins.

"BEGONE" she cried, channeling her wild power into a single command. The butt of the staff slammed into the stone floor. Hell's gates opened in reply.

Blue flames rushed out of the staff's orb in twin comets of hellfire. Twining like snakes in heat, the comets barreled down the length of the chamber before splitting around the lone figure holding the Black Dogs at bay. Dozens died in agonized screams as the fire consumed them, scorching the flesh from their bones in seconds, reducing piles of the humans and orcs into a charred carpet of bone and metal. The leftmost comet careened towards the daemon-Vult, only to be deflected by an upraised hand. It smashed into a pillar and tore the whole column down, burying a half-dozen orcs under its weight. The other struck Kin full-on. The mage threw up his own shielding spell, but was hurled backwards. The spell was interrupted. It could not harm them now.

"Bitch!"

Hicks staggered out from under a mound of dead. His upper right jaw had been taken by Louk Shannegh's lightning, along with his ear and the side of his skull. Charred brain matter pulsed visibly from the wound. He should not have been standing. None of these creatures should have been standing. But they all were. All the corpses not too mutilated to be raised were lifting up on their own power. It was necromancy on a level she had not seen in centuries.

He limped towards them, holding a keen sword with both hand. Blood drooled from his lips. "I will gut you both and fuck your corpses!"

"You shall not touch her" Chloe snarled. Darting forwards before Olga could stop her, the young half elf leapt high at the man with only her bared fists for weapons. Olga's voice froze in her throat, unable to bring itself out as her retainer faced down this inhuman monstrosity. The seething rage on Chloe's face was something Olga had not seen in a very long time.

Hick's blade slashed up to bisect her in two. It would have caught her under the ribs, severed her spine, and continued on while the two halves of her flopped lifelessly on the ground. Only, Chloe was no there. Midleap she kicked her legs forwards, hurling herself into an awkward reversed flip that skimmed under the man's blade. One foot snapped Hick's jaw into his skull, wrenching his neck so hard the spine clearly snapped. The other clipped his shoulder and used it to push off, completing her momentum to spin her about and land on her feet, one leg splayed wide, her head level with Hick's knees.

Hicks toppled to the ground, the flesh of his neck ripped free of his chest. Blood spurted noisily out from his severed wound, and his body remained unmoving. Not stopping to admire her work, Chloe wrenched her daggers free of the man's belt and slid them into their proper sheaths.

"Gods" Olga breathed, wrapping Chloe in a tight embrace.

"No more delays" Chloe snapped, wrapping an arm around her liege's waist. "We must run."

"Not without…" Olga craned her neck to look back. "Louk Shannegh!"

The man turned for a moment. Rage poured from his very skin, seething waves of hatred and fury that she felt from halfway across the chamber. Yet he calmed, his expression growing stern, and in that brief moment of gazing into his eyes Olga sensed that peculiar weight in his soul, the touch of age that did not belong in so young a body. The grevious pain of loss after loss after loss.

Without a word, the man broke into a run, sprinting away from the throne and towards them. The daemon-Vult cackled madly from the throne, lifting his head to let loose a baying call that shook the dust of ages from the walls. The rising corpses went rigid at the sound, frozen in place by the creature's command. They remained motionless as Olga, Chloe, and Louk rushed past them all.

" _Flee, flee, flee while you can"_ the daemon-Vult cackled. " _Run for a lifetime; I will catch you in the end. A good spider never lets his prey alive._ "

She tried to not let those words linger, but as they hurried through her castle to the courtyard, Olga could not shake the terrible fear rising inside her. Even as Louk Shannegh hacked his way through a phalanx of confused Black Dogs, and Chloe rushed to the stables to find them horses, she moved along numbly, struggling to imagine the scale of the beast inside.

What was _Virtuoso_? Was it a god? Was this what a, Celeste forgive her, True God was?

Her thoughts were interrupted only by their mysterious savior grabbing her forcefully by the hips and lifting her up to Chloe's waiting arms. Olga bit back her emotions as they rode out of the Black Fortress, a host of Black Dogs swarming after them. The daemon's laughter echoed in her mind even as the castle faded to a speck on the horizon.


	9. Ran So Far

**Author's Notes: After some debate, I have decided I will be inputting minor other crossover bits into this setting. By that, I mean non-Warhammer additions that are going to be mostly to add a touch of flavor. Don't expect anything crazy like sandwiching the Overlord continent in or something. Although, you have no idea how tempted I was to start toying with a story about that anime. It is incredibly entertaining, and I knew that if I started on that, this would stall out for too long. Because attention spans are the bane of my existence.**

 **Reviewers-**

DJatomica69- Glad you liked it!  
Machcia- Louk certainly isn't going to be the Supreme Commander Master General-type in this. He's a killer, not a general. While he will be leading a bit, this isn't an OC-saves-everything-and-is-the-best-at-everything story.  
The Storm Master 567- There's got to be tension in a story, and I felt that was a good bit of tension. And yes, poor Vult. He didn't deserve it.  
Danteinfernus- Yes, her ahem is very important.  
Abdiel Amaro- Glad they're coming across well. I'll be experimenting a bit more with horror/macabre in this one, because it is incredibly hard to write Slaanesh well (since nearly everybody thinks of the Dark Prince as SEXDRUGSALCHOHOL). I want to make this one stick.  
ManwithaPlan113- I don't necessarily plan on delving too much into Louk's 'current' state in the 40k timeline when this went down, but he is indeed solo in Eostia. Help may come later, but it won't be from a corner you would expect.  
V- What do you think her final spell was going to be when she said "You will join me in hell"? Her intention _was_ to blow the whole thing up.  
SomeGuyOverHere- Oh yeah, there isn't going to be some nice and happy "we'll all fight Vult now" moment. It's going to be a slog. Most of Louk's abilities are subtle enough it's going to be shown rather than explained. But I might have some explanation in here somewhere. And as for Olga on horseback... read and enjoy.  
Shaneman17- Once they are convinced of the existence of daemons, then yes it would be easier to believe. But he has to persuade them first.  
Interested Guest- Well, canonically she's a virgin, so... It's based off an H-game. It doesn't have to make sense.  
JauneBrando- Woot!  
Sigma-del-Prisium- The grim darkness will cast its shadow over Eostia, indeed.

* * *

 **Ken, The White Citadel**

Prim stood over the gatehouse, palms resting on the cool stone rampart, watching the long column of Black Dogs mercenaries marching past the city. Every day brought a new column of warriors, from the east or the west, all heading for the guarded pass that Vult had taken his army through. She estimated another twenty thousand mercenaries had passed Ken since he had started off. Nearly all the Black Dogs in Eostia had been summoned to his side. On the one hand, she thanked the gods that Vult had so many to call upon. He would need everything to defeat the Legion in a straight battle. But with this many heading into Garan, the seven kingdoms were vulnerable to raiding bands.

The Shields were far too reliant on the Black Dogs, she had decided. Before now, it had been more of a background thought, a nagging question that had surfaced from time to time. When the only threat had been raiding bands, there had been little to worry about in their reliance. Those rare times they needed a full army, the Black Dogs had always been available, and they mobilized quickly enough to combat the large threats. Vult had saved the kingdoms more than once.

Outside of Feoh and Geofu, the kingdoms relied on the Black Dogs for their troops. Well, Ansur was its own anarchical powerhouse, with the halflings, dwarves, and beastkin. Half of them, then. Thorn, Ur, and Rad had little to no standing force though. And Ken only had the Citadel Guard for the capitol. With all the Black Dogs pushing into Garan, the majority of Eostia was now practically defenseless.

That did not sit well with her. Her people deserved to be protected; what sort of ruler was she that required them to rely so heavily on others for their safety?

"Do ya think there's enough of them" Luu-luu asked dryly. The halfling had propped herself up on the crenellated battlements, tucked precariously with one leg hanging in the void. The master of Ansur had a massive sandwich on her lap and an oversized mug in her hand. The dark stout swished near the brim, stirred by Luu-Luu's casual gesturing.

"The Black Dogs are excellent warriors" Prim affirmed, not caring for the uneasy flutter that struck her at the halfling's dismissive question.

"HAVE FUN STORMING THE CASTLE" Luu-Luu suddenly roared, waving her mug towards the distant column. Though small and unimpressive to look at, Luu-Luu's hidden physical attributes always surprised them. Her booming voice stretched across the plain so well that even the mercenaries turned to face the city. A few waved cheerily at them. Prim could not contain her smile, and she lifted her hand to return their attentions.

"Do you think it will work?" The halfling took a long swig of her stout.

Did Prim think it would work? She honestly could not imagine the Legion being defeated. Their numbers were limitless, and the Dark Quen was rumored to be a match for any mage except for Celestine herself. Could Vult and his warriors hope to defeat them? Even with so many men, even should they be assembled together and fight as one…

"It will take a miracle" Prim admitted.

"Buh-BYE!" Luu-Luu tittered. "Aw, that one blew you a kiss"

The halfing's eyesight was sharp as a hawk's, and Prim believed her. The young princess blushed, but continued to wave. Reaching the end of her mug, the halfling reached down and picked up the keg she had left there. Spending a short moment eyeing the mug, she shrugged and tossed it carelessly over the wall before lifting the keg with both hands and pulling the cork with her teeth. The keg was heavy enough for two grown humans to heft, but halfling strength made it effortless. "I never get a- _belch_ -nything like that."

"You don't seem the kind to enjoy that." Prim eyed the halfling thoughtfully. Her gaze drifted to the sandwich on Luu-Luu's lap, dripping red juices. "Is that… raw?"

"The steak? Yeah. How else would you eat it?"

A grimace stole across her mouth, and Prim turned back to watch the receding column of mercenaries. She mouthed a silent prayer for their safety.

 **-v-**

 **Garan Wastes**

The sun set slowly in the wastes. Apart from the mountains bordering the vast lands, there was little to break the horizon. Sloping dunes at best broke up the landscape, but the sun fell on them until the very last moment. Despite the emptiness of the wastelands, he had noted on the way to the Black Fortress that it had a certain… charm to it. A pervading quiet and peacefulness that he had enjoyed during the nights standing away from the rest of the army.

Now the emptiness was a curse. Louk rode behind the others, alternating between eyeing the way forward and the way behind. So far, no sign of pursuit worth worrying over had made itself known. There were dust clouds far in the distance; though he did not know whether that was pursuit or scouts. It paid to be cautious. For now he kept the cloud in his sights. The anger had faded over time, but his pride still burned hot.

 _Virtuoso_ had allowed them to leave.

Had it been a true fight to escape, his honor would have sated itself. But to be allowed to leave. To be given permission… the simmering need to turn his horse around and ride back to challenge the daemon gnawed at him. It was a foolish notion, of course. The daemon was too well entrenched and empowered to face. The curse of his blood did not care. The ghostly image of its cackling laughter tickled his ears. He needed to kill it. He needed its skull.

The young half-elf threw her gaze back at him. The two elves rode on the same steed; she had not had time to gather more than two. They were both small and light enough to not overburden their steed, though after riding for this long a rest would be needed. These horses had great strength and stamina, but they were only animals. Sensing her unspoken question, Louk scanned the slopes ahead of them and picked one that looked promising. The sun was just starting to disappear behind the distant mountains. It would be dark soon as it was. They would need sleep.

Not bothering to speak, he pointed out his intent. Chloe angled her horse obligingly, and Louk urged his horse forwards to pull alongside them. Walking their mounts behind the cover of the dune, he slipped easily to the ground. Spending a moment to survey the covered side of the dune, he gauged what sort of protection they could expect, and how much effort it would take to their presence.

When the others did not join him on the ground, he sighed softly and walked around the horse to assist them down. The trouble with doubling up on a horse, he assumed. That, or the dark elves were unused to riding. Returning his attention to his companions, he glanced up at Olga Discordia and offered his hands to assist.

His mouth went dry when he was starkly reminded that the Dark Queen had been on the verge of a gangrape when he and Chloe had burst into the throne room. Her naked body sat uneasily on the horse, caramel skin glistening with sweat from the oppressive heat. Succulent breasts heaved as she sucked in a long breath, her dark, brooding eyes gazed down at him without expression, free of judgment or disgust.

Louk realized he was staring. Averting his gaze, he cleared his throat and motioned for her to take his hands. Her thick, luscious thigh swept over her mount's head, flashing a tantalizing patch of well-maintained fur between her hips, and placed her hands on his shoulders instead. Accepting her decision, Louk gripped her by the hips and guided her down to the ground. Loose strands of her hair brushed against him, sliding down his face. For a moment her weight hung in the air, resting in his hands. Then her feet touched down, landing gently on top of his boots, and the dark elf queen eased backwards a step.

With her powerful presence and regal demeanor, it was easy to forget that she stood nearly a head shorter than he did. He went to look her in the eye, but the downward cast of his gaze to do so revealed far more temptation than he had the energy to resist. Choosing instead to inspect the horse's flank, he made a point of patting the queen's shoulder once before stepping back to give her more space.

"We'll rest here for the night" Louk told them. Slipping his cloak off his shoulders, he offered it to Olga, who accepted it with a subtle nod, and turned away. "Apologies, Lady Olga."

Her retainer leapt off the horse and pushed between them, placing her hand on the Olga's shoulder and turning her away to protect her modesty. He took that as his cue to turn away and look for something to tie their horses. Leaving the two elves to themselves, he studied the light pack that had already been on the horse. A blanket, a few rolls of bread, and a lantern. Not much to work with, but he had seen worse.

Letting them alone for a while, he concentrated on climbing up the hill and surveying the dust cloud behind them. It had slowed, diminished, and whoever was out there had stopped moving. That confirmed his fears, that they were being pursued. The daemon had allowed them to leave, but it did not have complete control over its minions yet. This may be a small band, or perhaps orders from one of its lieutenants. That they were stopping now meant they were not mindless. Which meant they would come at night. So they were safe for now.

He remained on the dune until the sun had set and the long shadows covered them all. The soft light of a fire lit his body behind him for a moment, then was hastily stifled as one of the women threw a cloak over it to hide its presence. Appreciating their foresight, he backed down the slope and joined them around the small fire they had assembled out of roots and driftwood.

No one spoke for a little while. Sitting silently around the fire, they heated the food available. The bread was not quite stale yet, but without water it was a tough meal. Louk considered the meal and handed his portion off to them both. They needed it far more than he did. A day or so of no food ranked low on his list of hardships.

Chloe grumbled her way through it, though she dared not complain. Instead she cursed and muttered under her breath about 'bastard humans.' Through the ranting she did not once mention the daemon, or the corrupting presence it had so prevalently established in their former home. Louk considered that as shock, and did not fault her for it. Most would lose their minds at seeing a daemon, much less interacting with it.

It had touched Olga Discordia, and she had survived. The queen's will must have been indomitable to be able to walk away from such close contact without overwhelming corruption. Yet here she sat, unbowed, unbroken. Resting on her knees, clutching his cloak protectively as she stared into the small flames, her brows furrowed in concentration. Since leaving the Black Fortress she had yet to utter a word. Instead she remained lost in her thoughts, and with so many terrible things that could occupy her mind, Louk decided it best to not say or do anything that might bring those back to mind.

After a sufficient period of time, he told them both to sleep. Rest could come for him when they reach safe territories. Until then, he resolved to remain on his guard. Neither of the women grumbled at his command; rather they accepted it gratefully, almost as if they had been awaiting his permission. Chloe put out the fire and used the blanket they had set up to cover the light as a blanket. Her mistress accepted the blanket from Louk's horse, curled up next to the embers, and fell into a deep sleep. The both of them were exhausted. Being locked in the cells had been restless, despite the lack of anything to do. After days of being surrounded by foes, they now must have considered themselves safe enough for real sleep.

To be fair, this was as safe as they could be.

Louk eased back up to the top of the dune and took his post, remaining low on the crest to avoid presenting a silhouette. Settling in for a long night, he drew Durendal and set it on the crest, nestling the blade under the top layer of sandy soil to hide it from potential glinting. His stomach growled fitfully every so often, the only disturbance of the night's stillness.

 **-v-**

The second day they ran out of food. By his estimate, they were halfway to the mountains, halfway to freedom. He could handle it the strain, but his companions were not as prepared as he had been. Despite their sleep the night before, both of the elves were ragged with exhaustion, and their stoic demeanor only mostly hid their suffering. Neither complained aloud, though Louk could tell that Chloe had many things she wanted to say to him. Mostly regarding how her liege did not deserve this punishment, or something to that extent. But the young one kept her mouth stubbornly shut.

The further they rode, the less the bloodlust weighed on him. The worst of it had passed now. Suffocating rage gave way to calculating planning. The daemon had won the opening stage of this war. It was going to be a war; there was no way around it now. It had drawn first blood. Removing Vult from play, even though Louk had known little about him save their brief acquaintance, boded ill. Ensnaring so much of the Black Dogs mercenary army had given the daemon a devastating edge in this war. Now Louk needed allies, and an army to back him up. That meant going back to the Shields and swaying them to his cause, which would hardly be something that would happen quickly or painlessly.

Eostia did not need a warrior now. They needed a diplomat, someone who could bend the entire might of the kingdoms to one mind. Their Goddess could do that, as the worshipped being of the known world, but before that could be accomplished he would need to convince her of the necessity and urgency of the daemon's threat. While the high elf had proven to be at least somewhat receptive to the idea, he had no way of knowing for certain that it could be accomplished.

The dark-haired queen was watching him. They rode abreast now. After their pursuers had failed to show up at night, and seemed content on maintaining their distance, Louk had abandoned the rearguard in favor of keeping a better eye on the two of them. Since doing so, Olga Discordia had kept an eye on him as much as he had on them. Her scrutiny remained unspoken, aloof, and unreadable.

He knew he should not care what she thought of him. She was, simply put, insignificant. Everyone was in the face of this threat. Were it not for the circumstances, he was certain he may have been tasked with killing a woman such as herself, whether for her strange magic or her inhuman nature. Besides that, she was not a real ally. Perhaps one of convenience, but that was all. He doubted he would see her again after delivering her to Celestine and the Shields.

Despite what he knew, he found himself returning her gaze more often than not. The younger half-elf glared at him for doing so. No doubts were in his mind that she considered his brazen attitude unbecoming. With all of the events that had transpired, he understood her need to blame someone for something. Holding that anger in check was a testament to her character.

Olga Discordia's eyes were enchanting. They held a depth of wisdom and strength he had rarely found in any intelligent beings. Her character was pure, at least as pure as could be found outside the fanatical ranks of the zealots of the Ecclesiarchy. Despite what had nearly been done to her days before, she retained her dignity, and carried herself just as proudly as she had before. Alluring, yet respectable. He could not deny how that stirred familiar sensations he had been suppressing for a long time.

Ken could not come quickly enough. Olga was a distraction, nothing more. He could not afford any sort of distraction. He needed to be single-minded, focused. Nothing mattered except expelling _Virtuoso_ back into the hell it came from. It was going to be a long fight, and a brutal one.

When the time came to camp again for the night, there was no shelter to be found. They had reached a long stretch of flat land, with the nearest hills hours away. It was hardly ideal, but the open plain at least meant he could see any enemies coming from a great distance. No fire this time, however. On the flat plains there was no way to hide it. Once again, he ordered them to sleep while he stood guard. The first pangs of exhaustion had begun to tug at his eyelids; his muscles had started to ache.

Their pursuers continued to maintain distance. Now that two days had passed without them approaching, Louk wondered if they had been sent along merely to ensure that he and the two elves left the region. Or, that he had left the region. He doubted the daemon cared much for where Olga and Chloe went. They did not pose a threat. _Virtuoso_ would be keeping an eye on him, however. One way or another, he would have to deal with that unit.

For some time into the night, he watched the specks on the horizon, the unit of horsemen tasked with their pursuit. They had settled in as well, content to merely observe for now. That could change at any time. He needed to be ready for when their priorities shifted, or their control slipped. There were not enough of them to cause him concern, so long as he maintained an eye on them.

"The dead lands" Olga's silken voice whispered. The deposed queen drew his cloak under her and sat by his side. Dextrous fingers began picking through her hair, untangling knots and smoothing the curls with practiced ease. Dawn was still an hour or more away, but the queen looked remarkably refreshed. Not recovered, but refreshed. Her brown eyes regarded him for a moment, half hidden by her working hands. Despite the simple nature of the action, she made it seem fluid and graceful, and Louk decided he had never seen anyone make that daily chore seem quite so… regal.

"So you did this?" He nodded forwards. "Turned this whole region into a dead land?"

"It was one of the first actions I took under the mantle of the Dark Queen" Olga replied. "To ensure that none had a reason to venture into Garan."

"What was this place before?"

"Verdant forests. Crystal lakes. Endless meadows. It was a paradise before…" her voice caught in her throat for a moment, and she stared wistfully into the distance. After a pause, she cleared her throat and continued. "The demons' invasion had already doomed Garan. My people left this region centuries ago, moving to the north."

"You kin, the dark elves?"

Her head bobbed once.

"What made you leave Garan?"

"H _umans_ " she muttered, her expression tightening. "I am sure, by what you heard among these… animals, that you are aware of how my kind are viewed by them. Those pigs have the audacity to view my kin as nothing but objects for their pleasure. Those" she bit her lip for a moment, struggling to find the right words. The delicate arch of her furrowing brows was the only indication of the rage such memories brought to bear. "Our choice was to leave Garan or kill them all. So we left them. Garan became a buffer between our nations. Those that crossed the land were often spotted far in advance, and we could prevent many of those slavers from ever reaching our borders. But once the demons came, they had a whole land to infest and destroy. For our sake, and that of Eostia, I burned Garan to discourage any but the most foolish from entering Garan and drawing the attention of the daemons."

"It was a defensive measure then." Louk nodded. "Scorched earth tactics."

"The demons are content in a wasteland. They have little need for trees, or water, or any of that." Olga sneered at the ground. "I would not give these pests the chance to defile my ancestral home grounds. Better to destroy it all than see it perverted by their touch."

"I've done something similar" Louk told her. "I understand."

At those words, the queen turned her head to study his face. Louk steeled himself and looked on, refusing to risk losing himself in those chocolate eyes.

"You _do_ understand" Olga breathed, making the statement sound both uncertain, yet firm. "Gods, what have you seen in your life?"

"Far too much" Louk admitted. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, willing the creeping tiredness to vanish. It did not.

"We're going to have to do something about your clothes" he stated, changing the subject. "You aren't riding to Ken wearing nothing but sleeves, boots, and a cloak the entire way."

The ghost of a smirk crept across her lips. Olga looked down at the borrowed cloak, noting how it had been pull back by her sitting, and coyly pulled it back over her body. " While I am grateful for the offering, it is lacking."

Climbing to her feet, Olga planted her staff in the ground and set her hand over the crystal on its mount. A murmured spell drew a low emanation of light from the crystal, green tendrils of energy that spilled out of the foci and spread along her arm, sliding along her body like oil. He watched, fascinated, as the light disappeared under the cloak, and Olga's eyes closed in concentration. When the light faded, she spread her arms wide, tossing the cloak over her shoulders, revealing the same flaunting dress she had worn when he first saw her in the Black Fortress.

"That is better" she muttered, and dropped heavily to a sitting position. Her staff remained in the dirt, standing proudly like a banner pole. But the dark queen's presence seemed to have shrunk. Her shoulders drooped, and her head hung low for several slow, deep breaths. When she recovered, she let out a breathy, bitter laugh.

"That spell used to mean nothing to me. On any other day, It took less than a fraction of my power. My magic is still…" her voice trailed off, and any mirth she might have enjoyed was swept away. A near-invisible ripple spilled down her neck, across her back, and through her limbs. She shuddered once, and clutched the cloak tightly.

Louk wisely changed the conversation again. The spell itself impressed him. Transmutation, or summoning, or whatever the hell it had been, was no easy feat. Complimenting her on it would do no good though. Not when it reminded her of how far she had fallen. "So what are they going to say, when I bring you back to Ken? You and I both know that it won't be a cheery reunion."

"I fully expect them to string me up" Olga claimed. "Figuratively speaking. I made many enemies over the years. I honestly do not even know what Celestine thinks anymore. Does she think I am a monster, Louk Shannegh? Does the Goddess Reborn consider me to have lost my way?"

"I believe Celestine is tired of the war, and eager for peace" Louk assured her. "She stressed the importance of you being brought back alive, and that she had no desire for your death unless it could not be avoided. I would say you have one ally across these mountains. But the rest of the Shields are tempermental. Two, I know will want your blood."

"Alicia Arcturus" Olga stated softly. "Her mother was slain by the demons."

Rising to her feet, Olga brushed excess dirt from the cloak and bid her farewell for the night. Louk resisted the urge to turn and watch the shapely dark elf pad back to Chloe's side. Within a few minutes, her form had gone still, disturbed only by the subtle shift of her breathing.

Louk let out a long sigh and reached over to pluck her staff from the dirt. This had been the easy part, he told himself. Facing off against _Virtuoso_ was nothing compared to the oncoming politics that he would have to wade through on the other side of the mountains.

Sometimes, all a world needed was a good Exterminatus.

 **-v-**

The third day was the worst. The human body could last without food for weeks, given the circumstances. Water, not so much. Though he had the benefit of experience to harden himself from the deprivations, the elves did not. Already, he had decided that their race had some physical advantages over the humans. They were far more durable than mankind. On their second day with no water, they slogged onwards with that commendable stubborn silence, refusing to voice any issue with the state of affairs. Better dying of thirst in a desert than being raped and mutilated by the foul spawn of the Chaos Gods.

Walking made it so much worse, though. Early in the morning, a snake had taken one of their horses. Louk knew far too little of the animals of this place to aid the creature as the small snake's bite sent it into an agonized frenzy. Within a minute, the horse was on the ground, foam spilling from its mouth. He put the animal out of its misery without a second thought.

The second horse gave out on them around midday. Exhausted, dehydrated, and overworked, the horse fell on the side of the road, and Louk put that out of its misery too. So they walked. With the sun beating down overhead, and heat boiling up from the blasted land at their feet.

Olga had it the worst by far. What strength she had regained by rest was gone, erased by her magic spell. Though she trudged on with admirable determination, her head lolled, and by midday her ragged breathing irritated Louk's ears. Every few steps she sucked in a deep gasp, straightening her back as she fought to remain upright and proud. It was a valiant effort, but if they did not have some kind of help soon, Louk knew she was not going to make it. Not on her own feet. Carrying her was not out of the question, but neither she nor her retainer would accept that option while they had the strength to stand.

Their pursuers crept closer by the hour. Vultures circling a dying prey, they maintained a steady, slow pace; no point in straining their horses when Louk and the others had nowhere to run. By his estimate, the riders would come upon them at dusk. That was no good. The elves would be near fainting from exhaustion, at the rate he was pushing them. So he would have to fight the riders off on his own. If they waited, they would bake in the sun and get no further towards their goal. Also not a good option.

 _When in doubt, go forwards._

A trusted maxim of the Praetorian regiments. Eulogy had taught him that one lifetimes ago. The thought of her brought a grin to his mouth. Blonde hair, slim figure, with a haughty countenance and piercing eyes. Perhaps one of the only Imperial Guard officers he had ever liked, and trusted, she had opened his eyes to the strategy and tactics of an organized military. That knowledge would hopefully serve him well, before this war ended. For now, he was content to remember her lovely smile, a hard-earned prize he had once treasured above all but one other.

"What's so funny" Chloe grunted, her face shaded by an uplifted hand.

"Old friends" Louk answered. "Thinking how to beat _Virtuoso_ and the Legion."

"There are a couple steps in there you might want to solve first" the half-elf muttered darkly. "Like how we're getting out of Garan with our heads. Those riders are still behind us."

"I am aware."

They both turned as the queen slipped. The sand shifted under her feet, sliding her sandaled foot out from under her. With a hoarse cry, she tumbled to her knees, catching herself with a savage jerking motion as her fall came to an abrupt halt. A hiss of pain spilled out of her lips.

"My queen!" Chloe leapt to her side, seeing to her master in an instant. The younger elf helped Olga to her feet, running her hands over Olga's body to check for wounds or injuries. "Your shoulder."

"It is nothing" the queen said, her voiced strained through clenched teeth. The lie was obvious to them all. In stopping her fall, she had held onto her staff for support. That anchor overextended her shoulder, and Louk knew without a doubt she had pulled, or torn, something important. Easing Chloe to arm's reach, Olga tucked her arm tight to her chest and resumed walking. Her dark eyes snapped up at Louk, filled just for a moment with self-loathing. "We must not stop."

Louk bowed his head. Thinking better of extending his arm for support, he merely fell in step at her side, maintaining careful but close distance. The dark elf made no comment about this, though the tension on her face drained away as they continued to walk.

The sun had fallen halfway to the mountains when Louk spotted another dust cloud. Only, this one came from ahead, directly on their path. It was large too, far larger than the one behind them. The easy assumption was that these were more Black Dogs drawn unwittingly to the Black Fortress. If so, the chance that they had not yet fallen to the daemon's touch could not be ignored. He had seen how the daemon infected worlds before. It was still new here, gathering its power, so its influence remained limited. Those he had seen arriving in the days at the fortress had been unaffected by _Virtuoso_. These most likely were too.

"Move" he ordered the elves, increasing his pace. They hurried to keep up with him, eyeing each other quizzically at the sudden urgency in his voice. Casting his attention behind, Louk confirmed that their pursuers had increased their speed. With the possibility of rescue ahead, it appeared that the moment had come. _Virtuoso_ did not intend for them to leave Garan alive. The problem was, their pursuers were closer than those approaching from the south. And the newcomers had no urgency; they were on a steady march, not a rush to battle.

That needed to change if the elves were to survive this.

"Olga, how much strength can you muster?"

"As much as is required" the dark elf panted, drawing her head up to level with him. "I am Olga Discordia. Even without most of my magic, I can make armies cower before me."

It was a bold statement, and a brave showing, but Louk needed nothing so grand. What he did need was the dark elf to remain standing, and any display of power would potentially jeopardize that.

"Can you send a flare?"

"A signal?" She nodded slowly, drawing to a halt. Taking her staff in both hands, she turned it over to inspect the crystal mounting.

"We need those men to the south to get here faster than the bastards to the north."

Nodding in agreement, the Dark Queen cupped her hand over the crystal and blew a shallow note over it. The crystal flared, emitting a pulse of light that shot to the heavens, as clear to view as an orbital strike from a lance battery. He took a step back, squinting against his expectation of a blinding shine, but the light hardly burned, much less blinded him. Impressed, he watched the beacon for a moment, then turned to watch for responses.

Their pursuers leapt to action, spurred by the signal. Sensing that their prey may have found a way out, or perhaps discovered an advantage, they pushed themselves into a wild rush. The others, those strangers ahead, hesitated, as Louk had expected they might. It might take them a while to decide how to progress. A wise commander would see the signal as an unknown, equally likely to be a trap or an ally. With luck, he would push his men on, to discover the source of the signal.

Until then, they needed to not get caught.

"We cannot wait here" he told them. "Push on."

The elves did not follow at first. Olga leaned against her staff, her tongue lolling, chest heaving with fitful breaths. Ever by her side, Chloe supported her, a grief-stricken horror on her face.

"Lady Olga, you must rest."

"No!" The dark elf pushed off of her staff and took a hesitant step forwards. Her balance wavered, and Chloe rushed to hold her up. "We… must… go on."

"She can't keep this up" Choe shouted, venting her anger at Louk. "Let her rest, you bastard."

"If we stay here, we'll die" Louk snapped back. Letting out a snarl of frustration, he stalked back to them and put a hand on Olga's shoulder. The half elf stiffened, clasping at her daggers, murder rising in her gaze. "Can you walk, or shall I carry you?"

Her words were slurred, nearly unintelligible. Olga gave a weak, possible nod, then slid to her knees, slumping against her staff.

"Throne damn it" Louk grunted. Ignoring the younger half elf's panicked cry and fussing over the half-conscious queen, he stepped past them and gauged the distance between the two bands. The newcomers had resumed their advance. They were still far away, but it appeared a small detachment had separated from the main band and were riding hard their way. Sliding his laspistol free of its holster, he checked the charge on its pack. It was a tic he had done hundreds of time since leaving the Black Fortress. Half the pack remained. He had three more on his belt. While they could be recharged, he did not look forward to needing to fire-charge them. "Fine, we stand here. Chloe, pull Olga to the side. That dune, lay her there. Give her shade."

"Where are you going" the elf yelled after him as she carefully aided her mistress off the road.

"To keep you alive" Louk called over his shoulder. He moved further into the open path, making himself as visible as possible, and pointed the laspistol in the air. "Fecking balls."

The laspistol squealed three times, evenly spaced shots that sparked through the darkening sky. The middle light on the pack darkened. He growled at the waste, and holstered the laspistol. Replacing the sidearm with Durendal, he whipped the blade free. The ancient blade glinted against the falling sunlight. It hungered for blood. One did not draw Durendal without tasting blood.

"Be still" he ordered, calming the spirit of the blade. Or maybe it was his own hunger. He often couldn't tell the difference. With nothing else to do, he waited. Sword drawn and held at his side, his back to Olga and Chloe, stance split so he could easily track both incoming parties of riders.

It was the newcomers who reached him first. Five riders in total, armed to the teeth but wearing no identifying colors. Black Dogs, of course, but judging by the lack of uniform in their armory, they were leaders among the mercenary warband.

The first rider wore a well-maintained burgundy hauberk, steel-plated greaves and pauldrons, and rode bareheaded. A kite shield protected his left side, dented and scratched but polished smooth, and he held a bastard sword in his right. He had a cautious look, though unbridled confidence danced behind that frown. His gaze flicked over to the elves for a moment, but returned immediately to Louk. It was the look of a man that had plenty of experience with studying foes. By appearance, he was the leader of these commanders. Louk tried to match a name, but he had heard only a few, and had little information to mark the Black Dogs lieutenants by face.

To his right, a woman with red hair pulled back by a bronze circlet regarded him and the women with interest, though her attention settled on the elves first and foremost. Squinting against the glare of the sun, the woman raised a hand to cover her eyes. She wore little armor other than leather vambraces. A red and yellow bodice complimented the cheery, natural smile that was not quite shown under her curiosity. Short pants skimmed her thighs, revealing toned legs shaped by extensive training and exercise. Paired swords hung from her horse's saddle. One with a cross hilt and straight blade, the other a thin and guarded rapier.

At the end of the formation, a pale blonde wearing a red dress uniform that could have been pulled from the Praetorian Guard sat tall on her horse, gazing openly at Louk with undisguised scrutiny. She wore a rich blue tricorn cocked at a jaunty angle, the kind of hat he had seen before in outlandish characters. White tights completed the outfit, with knee-high riding boots and a host of straps across her legs and waist holding component pouches and alchemical reagents. To his surprise, a flintlock carbine protruded from a treated leather sling. A brace of pistols hung on her hips, primed and ready for fire.

Opposite the women, a thin and small man in leather armor eyed them both. His right hand held a longbow, held strung but empty. On the opposite hip, a long knife stuck out from under his riding cloak. He was young, had a boisterous spirit, and did not know at all what to make of the situation. His uncertain gaze lingered quite unprofessionally on the women. Youth.

The last of the riders was a giant of a man , clad in full plate armor and wielding a thick spear and heavy shield. His armor covered every inch of his body save his face, as young as the one beside him, but thoughtful and concerned. Nudging his horse with his knees, he walked it to the side, separating himself a little from the others, giving himself more room should it come to blows. Smart man. His face was similar enough to the one beside him that Louk guessed them to be brothers. The hothead and the calm one. Of course it was so.

"I am Magnus" the center rider announced, easing his horse to a stop just a few feet away from Louk. His voice had a drawling brogue, exotic for this place, but familiar enough to Louk's own tongue that a sliver of comfort rose in his gut. The man had a fair look about him. Serious, intelligent, and coiled like a snake ready to strike. His horse stopped exactly where he intended: far enough to be out of reach, but close enough where a single leapt forward from the horse would put Louk in killing range. "Captain in the Black Dogs, commander of the Bladestorm. Who are you, and why are you travelling on foot in the Dark Queen's territory?"

Louk made a show of looking back over his shoulder, towards the rapidly approaching pursuers. He could count them now. Twenty in all. Still ticks on the horizon, but closing the distance faster than he liked. He did not have much time.

"Who do you serve" Louk demanded, gazing at each of the riders in turn. Their bewildered responses might have made him laugh, had the situation been otherwise.

"He's sunstruck" the one in dress uniform giggled, her voice an accented kiss of air on a dreary day. "Do you not know who the Black Dogs are, _mon cher?_ Where ever have you been hiding?"

"Do you serve Celestine, or do you serve Vult?" Louk gestured at the elves. Olga was somewhat recovered now, though she still sat tiredly on the sand, while Chloe stood protectively in front, glaring at the riders with unashamed spite. "I am Louk Shannegh, the Reaper, empowered by Celestine Lucross to accompany the Black Dogs invasion of Garan and ensure the safe capture and delivery of Olga Discordia, the Dark Queen. There she is, and her retainer. We are travelling to Ken."

"Why do you have no horses?"

"Dead." His answer raised eyebrows, but the riders said nothing in response. The bowman leaned towards the plate-armored one and whispered something under his breath.

"And who are those behind you?" Magnus tipped his head. "You don't seem to count them as friends, yet we have never seen the demons riding horses. Are they the Dark Queen's servants giving chase?"

"Who do you serve" Louk growled. "I will not ask again."

"The Black Dogs fight for the people of Eostia" Magnus snapped, his impatience bleeding through his tone. "If you are so insistent on an answer, then yes, our highest loyalty is to the Goddess Reborn. Though Vult is our master, she is the one we fight for."

"Good enough" he muttered. Sticking Durendal into the sand, Louk held out his arms and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Vult and those with him have fallen to corruption. We took the Black Fortress, and Olga is my prisoner. But in sacking her fortress they unleashed a power that consumed them. The Vult you knew and his men are no more. What lies in its place are unholy monsters."

"He _is_ sunstruck" the red-haired woman whispered back to the blonde. "Saints, he's crazy."

Magnus held up a placating hand to silence his fellows. "Karen, Diane, you are commanders of the Black Dogs, not gossips at the well."

They bowed their heads for a moment, chastened.

"Do you know how absurd that sounds" the man asked Louk.

"Yes. And I appreciate you listening. You do not have to believe my word alone. Walk with me, stand and speak with these riders. It will not be so impossible to believe then."

Despite the disbelieving stares from the riders, Magnus motioned for them to move forwards. They did, walking their mounts in a steady line, and their postures straightened as they braced themselves, falling easily into soldierly expectation. The big one on the end chuckled softly, but his bass voice rumbled like thunder over them all.

"That is Olga Discordia, no denying that. If he's got her in tow, there's got to be a bit of truth behind something, right George?"

"Shut up, Marc" the bowman ordered, though a playful grin flickered on his mouth as he dew an arrow and inspected it before setting it to string. "But sure, that's a pair of beauties. Blonde one's pretty eyes are sharper than your spear, though. Best watch your behavior around her."

"Because I am the one who needs behavioral advice" Marc grunted.

Keeping respectfully ahead, and too far away to cause them concern of a sudden attack, Louk waited for the riders with one hand resting on the pommel of his still planted sword. He listened to the idle banter between the riders, analyzing their words, their moods, and deciding whether or not he needed to kill them too. Judging by the innocence of their jokes, and the only passing attention to the elves, they had yet to be infected by the daemon's corruption.

Maybe he could salvage these ones.

To his left, the elves remained behind the protection of the dune, hiding from view of their pursuers. Olga rested on her side, propped up by an elbow, watching the riders with her listless, deceiving stare. Her retainer crouched low, hiding her silhouette over the slope, but drew her daggers and held them parallel to the ground. The young one's eagerness radiated from her like a soft flame on a dark night.

The incoming riders did not slow until it was nearly too late. Armored in the recognizable black leather of the Kuroinu, faces covered by silk masks, they whipped their horses furiously in the last legs of the approach. For a moment it appeared they might charge straight into Louk and the others, but at the last moment they viciously dragged their horses to a stop. The closest kicked up merely feet away, its hooves slashing the air in front of his face. Weapons remained sheathed, but there was no mistaking the murderous intent in their eyes, nor the predatory looks they tossed about, seeking the surrounding dunes like hunting animals until they caught sight of the two elves. As one, their gazes snapped over to the elves, and eager hands stretched to their blades. Only when the leader lifted an imperious hand did they stand down.

"Hail, Ulysses" Magnus greeted, a cool edge in his voice that had not been present when speaking to Louk. Not daring to turn back and check, Louk let himself imagine the caution written on Magnus' face. "Well met."

" _You answer the call_ " Ulysses said, turning his head slightly to inspect the captains. Only slightly muffled by the silk covering the lower half of his face, the lieutenant nevertheless slithered his words, drawing them through his mask like honey through fishnet stockings. " _The vaunted Bladestorm rides to the master._ "

"We ride to join Vult, aye. This man has some troubling things he's on about. I was hoping you could clear the air."

" _The Reaper tells no lies_ " the man replied. Ulysses' hand, held to halt his companions, twisted, pointing commandingly at Olga and Chloe. " _These belong to the master. Return them to us, and join._ "

"Now, we may have missed something between you all setting out for the Black Fortress and now" Karen interjected, incredulity in her tone. "But we all know the orders. Olga Discordia goes to Celestine."

" _Shut your mouth, cocksleeve_ " one of the Kuroinu howled. A ripple of disgruntled murmurers spread among the Kuroinu riders. More than one touched their weapons. Again, Ulysses silenced them with an upraised hand.

"Watch your bloody mouth" the bowman snarled.

"George" Magnus snapped, silencing him as well. "Ulysses, you sound different then when we last shared words. I fear I cannot reconcile this change in your attitude either. You were always a man of orders. What's this lack of discipline?"

" _Come with us to the master, and you will see many things_ " the Kuroinu captain promised.

"I don't think I can do that" Magnus said, sounding entirely apologetic. "Our charge is to bring the Dark Queen to Celestine."

" _I cannot allow you to do that_."

In a sudden burst of motion, Ulysses flicked his other hand out, hurling a hidden blade. The knife whipped across the air with the speed of an arrow loosed from a strong bowman. Magnus flinched to the side, and his sword leapt out of its scabbard with lightning speed. The half-drawn blade caught the dagger at an angle, deflecting it harmlessly into the air. The dagger was still flickering in the fading sunlight when the Kuroinu kicked their horses into a charge.

Throwing himself back and away from the incoming horses, Louk ripped Durendal free of the ground in a spray of sand. He rolled once, slipping between the horses of the Bladestorm captains, and came up on his feet, sword held in guard, the fury of battle spilling like wildfire across his mind. This was a confrontation he had been waiting for days to begin. The scent of soon-to-be-spilled blood filled the air.

It was the blonde woman who drew first blood.

Drawing her pistols in a single effortless motion, the woman cocked both hammers back with dextrous thumb movements and leveled one at the Kuroinu. There was no hesitation, no reluctance for drawing down on her former comrades. Just a soft curse in an elegant variant of the common tongue he did not recognize, and then the thunderclap bang of her archaic powder weapon. Her target leapt off its horse, a spurt of blood punching in its wake as her shot took him in the chest. Just as quick to the draw, the bowman George drew back and let loose a shot that took his target in the face. At such short range, the arrow pierced the man's skull and sprouted halfway out the back. Instantly slain, the rider jerked spasmodically and slipped from his horse.

Then it became bladework. The lines clashed with a rippling ring of metal on metal, of neighing horses and shrieking blades. As the only combatant on foot, Louk dodged and danced, avoiding kicking hooves as much as slashing blades. Durendal shot out as a Kuroinu trotted past, spilling free of the tangle of riders. The elder blade split the man from hip to shoulder. Screaming in agony, the man swerved his mount away, only to catch Magnus' backswing that buried itself in his chest.

Four of the Kuroinu surrounded the one called Karen. The lightly armed woman was a flurry of motion, her mismatched swords slicing the air so swiftly they may as well have been full shields. Unable to launch an attack while so beset, she dug her heels into her horse and shot forwards, sliding out from the press, and launched a backwards thrust as the last one passed. Her rapier caught the man in the throat.

Rushing to the woman's aid, Louk threw himself into one of the rider's horses. The horse toppled with a scream and the Kuroinu slammed into the ground. Before he could recover, Louk flicked Durendal in a broad sweep, cutting his head from his shoulders. Another of the Kuroinu turned on him, and he blocked two heavy swings before spinning under the man's reach and bringing Durendal down on the man's back with enough force to buckle the man's horse to its knees.

The last went to chase Karen, but his sword was deflected by a slapping strike from a flintlock pistol. Diane pushed his blade aside, and bent backwards until her shoulders touched her horse's rump when the Kuroinu launched a furious counter stroke. Shoving her second pistol under the man's chin, she pulled the trigger and his head exploded in a cloud of gore. His corpse slumped down to the join the growing carpet of Kuroinu dead.

It was hard to see past the milling horses, but Louk counted the falling bodies, the number of heartbeats dropping from the fight. A dozen already, in the span of only a few seconds. The Bladestorm were good. They matched well on horse. Throne knew how good they could be on the ground. George's horse suddenly galloped past minus its rider. Louk did not spare a moment to pity his death.

Then the bowman rose up from clinging to the horse's side. Nocking another arrow onto his bow, he launched it into the fray, and another Kuroinu toppled from his horse.

"Damn you" he shouted. "Come back to your senses!"

"I don't think they have those" Karen howled back, a note of laughter in her voice. Her rapier had returned to its scabbard and she wheeled her horse to face down a pair of Kuroinu that detached from the melee. "These fools have clearly lost their minds."

Through the sprawling battle, Louk watched Magnus standing tall in his stirrups, blocking multiple Kuroinu at once with his shield even as he battered away at Ulysses with his sword. The two leaders stood nearly shoulder to shoulder, their horses butting against each other. Marc, the armored one, ringed the melee, trying again and again to close to Magnus' side, but a trio of Kuroinu held him at bay. Two more lay dead on the ground, gaping wounds in their bodies from his thick spear.

A pair attempted to slink away, breaking out of the fight and circling towards the elves. Chloe eyed their approach with grim determination, remaining low to the ground. _I will protect you with my life, Lady Olga_ she told her mistress. Too far away to hear, but Louk saw the rage in the half elf's expression. That these men had dared to assault Olga. That they dared to come after them, chase them like animals, and now thought to kill or capture them. If the half elf possessed the power to kill with a look, the two would have died instantly.

His hand darted under his jacket for the laspistol. They were too far away to reach even if he sprinted to stop them.

The crack of another powder weapon sent one of the Kuroinu lurching to the side. Diane galloped past him, tucking her carbine back into its sleeve. "Oh no you don't!"

Surprised by the unexpected shot, the second man risked a glance back, checking to see if another shot might come for him. That was when Chloe struck. Exploding from her position in a streak, the half elf scrambled up the slope a few steps before launching herself into the air. She struck the man level, legs spearing past his head. With a savage thrust she clamped her thighs around the man's face and twisted, using her momentum to pull the man from his saddle and send them both spilling to the ground below. The half elf recovered in a flash, rising to her feet in a spray of sand, and sank both her daggers into the man's chest.

The whistle of an incoming blade alerted Louk to a rider bearing down on his backside. Ducking under the swing, folding in on himself until her nearly kissed the ground, Louk snatched up a fallen Kuroinu's saber and cut savagely into the path of the horse. The simple iron sword severed tissue and muscle, and the horse slammed to the ground, throwing its rider. The Kuroinu was still scrambling to his feet when Louk grabbed him by the hair, yanked his head back, and cut his head off with a brutal stroke. Holding the head for a fraction of a second, Louk gazed at the offering. He felt the surging pleasure of the kill, the ecstasy of a skull claimed for th-

Hurling the man's head away with disgust, Louk bit down on his tongue until he tasted the sweet nectar of his lifeblood. A shudder swept over him, and he forced his mind to calm, to seek the memorizations that he had been taught.

 _I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer._

The battle was over. The Kuroinu had all fallen, save Ulysses. Vult's lieutenant had pulled free of the combat, and now sat fitfully on his horse, eyeing the five captains of the Bladestorm with rage. He made no move to close again, no doubt understanding his chances against the five of them and Louk were not favorable. The bodies of his slain comrades seemed to have little bearing on him.

" _You fools_ " Ulysses hissed. " _The master offers freedom, yet you cling to your pathetic honor._ "

"I don't know what happened to you" Magnus huffed, sucking in long breaths as he regained his composure. Despite coming out of the brawl with not visible wounds, he had taken a beating, and it showed. His shield had numerous dents on it, and his sword showed notches. "Come with us, Ulysses. Surrender, and we will see to undoing what madness has descended on you."

" _Madness?_ " The Kuroinu cackled loudly, his voice spilling into discordant notes that caused the riders to flinch. " _It is you who are mad. You think to stand against the gods themselves!_ _You will all die in fruitless struggle, and those you seek to protect will be ravaged by the glories of our rightful master._ "

An arrow sprouted from Ulysses' chest. Shot at close range, it penetrated his cavalry breastplate with ease. It should have killed him. The arrow took him in the heart, sinking halfway to the fletching through his body. But Ulysses merely gasped, a pleasured expression twisting his face. He reached up to grab the arrow, and rather than pulling it out, he snapped it off and hurled the broken half back at them.

" _You were offered_ " Ulysses announced. " _And you have spat in the eye of the gods. Take your whore-queen. Run back to Ken. It does not matter. We will find you. Our master will find you all._ "

The Kuroinu lieutenant wheeled his horse and took off, galloping back in the direction of the Black Fortress. Confusion remained in his wake. The uneasy dread radiating from the Bladestorm captains could not be missed. More than one stared off after their former comrade.

"Well then" Magnus said at last. He put his weapons away and dismounted, landing stiffly on his feet. At his signal, the others dismounted as well. Guiding his horse alongside, Magnus approached Louk and held out his hand. "I don't know what that was, but you were right. Something has gone terribly wrong. The Bladestorm will escort you back to Ken. You will be safe with us."


	10. Council of Shields

**A/N: So the first thing I noticed while going an re-reading the earlier chapters is I apparently was swapping between "Celeste" and "Celestine." Going to try and get better with that, but if it slips, obviously they are the same person. If it keeps happening I might add a sidenote about how there is her 'goddess name' and her 'personal name.' Consider that canon should confusion arise. :D**

 **Apologies for the delay in posting. Had a whirlwind of a early July. Every time I told myself to sit down and work on the story something came up (including having to speed-build 30 characters for an Only War insert into a Black Crusade campaign I am running; party is beginning a planetary invasion, so the first couple sessions will be played Only War style with their more elite cultists).**

 **Also, with the announcement about crossovers, anything I do will be very minor, so nothing like NARUTO SAVES BAE HAREM or Lord Ainz comes in and curb stomps e'rebody. It will be subtle, and minimally invasive. Such as the Bladestorm. Those five characters are some of the story NPCs in the game of the same name. I just call them the Bladestorm as tribute to the game. Quasi-OC, but built around their personalities in game.**

 **Reviewers-  
** **Linkonpark100** \- Nah, everyone who went into Garan is screwed, but not all the Black Dogs necessarily make it into the wastelands. There was still a skeleton garrison force in Eostia, as well as a handful of units en route to the border.  
 **Macchia** \- Clearly you have never heard of the vaunted and clever strategy known as "send more bodies than they have bullets." 60% of the time, it works 100% of the time!  
 **Lorenzo98** \- Technically there is an infinite spectrum of daemonic power, but most only classify daemons in their combat potential. A really 'weak' daemon could still trash a planet if possessing the necessary ability and resources. Virtuoso simply 'is' a daemon. For Louk, yeah the slain daemon was Khornate.  
 **Ronmr** \- Woo!  
 **ManwithaPlan113** \- Well, the 'Kuroinu' as the special unit within the Black Dogs is well and truly done for. But yes, not all the Black Dogs have been caught in the web.  
 **John092** \- will do!  
 **StaffSergeant** \- Yes... battle lines... happy endings...  
 **Danteinfernus** \- When the Kuroinu hit, it will be like a brick in a glass house. All the pain and suffering!  
 **Guest** \- Yeah, there are a surprising amount of solid works in this setting, on this website at least. Who would have thought that an h-game would spawn a higher quality fandom?  
 **V** \- Louk struggles with what could best be described as a permanent addiction to bloodletting thanks to the shenanigans of his past. If he isn't careful, he can easily lose control to it.  
 **Evowizard25** \- The Bladestorm is going to have a purpose, don't you worry. But I can't guarantee they all survive. As for the rest of them, there's not too many Black Dogs left in Eostia, and most of them are spread all over the regions. Slaanesh is not as upfront vicious as Khorne, nor a craft as Tzeentch, but what Slaanesh has going for it is the corruptibility of mankind. Why make war when you can make super creepy, perverted love? Slaanesh, when written well, is honestly the most terrifying of the Chaos Gods. Most people just don't know how to write it out. I mean, if you are winning against Slaanesh, it could easily be Slaanesh allowing you wins to stroke your ego, build up your pride, and then consume you through that pride. It's like Lucius the Eternal. If his killer takes even the slightest bit of pride in the kill, Lucius possesses the killer. THAT is fucking terrifying.  
 **SomeGuyOverHere** \- In this case, author-knowledge is that Ulysses was acting out on his own volition to try and please his master. So the daemon itself allowed it, but did not necessarily condone it. Also, SEASON 3 is here! I NEED IT! ALL HAIL AINZ OOAL GOWN!  
 **FrancisVamp0822** \- Giving you one sentence per review, since we're PM'ing anyways. That line about Reaper not being a 'good guy' is going to be very important over the course of the story. There is going to be all kinds of stuff in this story, so be prepared for anything. Louk is not a good person, but that doesn't mean he has to be bad, of course. And yeah, I was debating for a bit how to make that swearing of allegiance work, since it still kind of happened a bit quickly, but Louk isn't a fanatic to the Golden Throne, so it's all good. I had a lot of fun with the battle, mostly just imagining how one would handle a horde of single-minded strong creatures. Got a bit of inspiration from all the chinese shows and movies of ancient kingdoms where there it a lot of shieldwall usage; It makes sense; If an orc is stronger than a man, don't let him get to swing. Hee, that moment when you expect an awesome battle between Vult and the daemon, but the daemon just goes 'bitch, please!' All the fun! well, they still have to be convinced of the threat. Each captain of the Bladestorm has about a hundred dudes, give or take some. And yeah, there's a whole long reason/story behind what made Louk immortal. Last time I explained it to a buddy it took about thirty minutes to go through the cliff notes version of all the details and planning that led to his immortality.  
 **Interested Guest** \- Well, let's be honest. She's a svelte beauty.  
 **CaptainFusou** \- Once Chloe gets a bit more time in the spotlight she'll develop more. It didn't make sense for her to be the main character in any of the scens yet, though, so you've only had a glimpse at her.

 **Have fun!**

* * *

 **Ken, North of the capitol**

It was a hot day when Alicia met the woman who murdered her mother.

Summer was ending; the first crips winds had been felt in Feoh. The cornstalks stretched ever skyward, teasing their promise of a ripe harvest. Creeping orange and red had begun to reveal themselves in the green forests. And the early flights of birds had departed, filling the sky with their elegant formations.

With the ending of Summer, other folk turned their minds to the harvest, or the festivals. Autumn was a time of rejoicing and celebration. Honoring the dead. Cheering the living. It was when the young men and maidens were married in droves. When crowds danced around roaring bonfires and endless casks of ale were drained.

Yet here she was, walking her horse down a narrow forest path, a line of forty Holy Iris knights behind her. Somewhere to her right, across the ravine and on the reverse slope of the other hill, her mentor led her own squadron. Though they travelled less than a league apart, Alicia had not spotted a sign of the Dawn Templars for hours now. But she knew they would be right where she expected. Claudia Levantine had never been accused of being unreliable. Her management of the Dawn Templar order was peerless and wonderful. Her knights remained the best trained military force in Eostia.

These paths were slow going. Two scouts rode ahead of Alicia, evenly spaced with enough distance to give warning should trouble arise. A third hustled along the lip of the hill above them. Her horse was somewhere in the rear of the column, guided by one of her sisters. The hilltop was no place to walk a horse. The jagged rocks and shifting earth were too dangerous for their mounts. Someone had to pull security, however. She doubted the woman on the hill had complaints. Riding grew tiresome after endless hours. Alicia's legs ached for want of walking on her own two feet.

Behind her, the Holy Iris knights maintained excellent noise discipline. Even without muffling their armor and weapons, they made little noise save for the occasional clack of a low-hanging branch catching a helmet. Wearing light armor and absent their lances, Alicia's contingent could have easily been mistaken for an ordinary band of uniformed mercenary cavalry. No banners followed her on this excursion. No glorious ranks of plate armor and barded warhorses heralded their charge. This was a scouting operation, and she had made sure that her sisters were properly equipped.

Her near scout relayed a signal from the outrider. The ravine let out into a clearing, a broad field marked by a large fodder barn and a windmill. Those lay abandoned now; nearly two decades ago the whole family had been slain by an orc raiding party. Now the structures, and the field, served as a strategic landmark of Ken's geography and nothing else.

"Maria" she called quietly, turning her horse just enough to look back at her second. "Weapons ready. Spread the squadron in three's as we clear the path. By files, reverse wedge."

Her knights responded with admirable speed. Guiding her horse to the edge of the path, Alicia spent a moment looking out over the field, inspecting for flags or soldiers portraying the foes of this excursion. These operations were designed solely to test their maneuvering, their capability to respond. It was less about combat potential than command potential. She had vowed years ago to never disappoint Claudia in that regard. The field was clear. The wild grass was tall enough to hide men lying low, in wait to ambush her forces. She made a series of gestures to warn her knights, refusing to announce her suspicions out loud in case her enemies were on the lookout.

By file, her knights spread out onto the edge of the forest, with one scout on either flank, heads peeled for danger. Alicia remained in the center of the formation, and allowed herself a moment to inspect their right flank. Sure enough, the Dawn Templars had begun to file out as well, their silver-lined armor recognizable anywhere in Eostia. Claudia held held the center of her own formation, and a short glance Alicia's way revealed the calm approval on the elder knight commander's face.

"Foe left" a cry resounded, echoing swiftly down the line by the knights. Alicia's head snapped that direction, her mouth opening for breath, searching for the danger. A dozen men, loaned from the White Guard, had emerged from deeper in the forest, jogging forward holding solid red banners. They maintained a close grouping, representing a single warband.

Quick as a flash, she formulated a plan. These operations had honed her into a sharp talent, a steady commander, and above all, not a panicker.

"Wheel on center! Left flank fold back to second line! Staggered formation!"

Her knights responded professionally enough. A few showed the lack of hurry of a non-combat scenario. Their movements were crisp, but without the sense of urgency. Her glower caught one, and the woman blanched at the realization that she was being singled out.

"Maria, send to Claudia. Request her approach on the right flank. Send both scouts ahead of them to sweep for an ambush."

Her second turned and hurried off, rushing towards the Dawn Templars. Claudia's own force was mobilizing, her knights splitting into two columns. By the time her own knights had reformed lines, with the banner-foes still a comfortable distance away, her Holy Iris knights stood prepared in double ranks, prepared to receive the charge order. Then her scouts pulled abruptly away from their path, retreating with haste as nearly two score men rose from the far end of the field, red banners springing to life like roaches spilling out of a rotten log.

Twelve ahead, representing ten each. Thirty five on the right. Four hundred and fifty demons against her forty knights and Claudia's fifty. They were outnumbered five to one. Assuming that was all of it. Her blood rose on its own accord, the excitement of the challenge rising in her. Her instinct was to charge, to have her knights rush forwards and scatter the foe, to send them fleeing for their lives. To run them down and kill them all.

That was not what they were here for. This was not a true battle. Those were not true demons. And there was no telling what else Claudia had planned. Bile rose in Alicia's throat, her gut reaction to calling the next order.

"Sound retreat" Alicia barked. Maria was still at the Dawn Templars, but the next in line had stepped up without needing to be told. "By ranks! Align with the Dawn Templars. Advance!"

As one, they peeled away. First the front rank, then the second. Maintaining position closest to the foe, Alicia trotted along, scanning the tree line, the field, everywhere at once. Her riders met the Dawn Templars and turned into battle line, forming an unbroken line alongside Claudia's knights. Detaching from her central position, Alicia rode to meet her mentor to discuss the strategy.

Claudia's short nod of acknowledgement told Alicia she had performed well so far. The older knight commander made a vague gesture towards the Holy Iris knights.

"You did not engage the bait. You are doing well. What is your plan now?"

"Charge" Alicia stated, without hesitation. "They outnumber us five to one, but we have mobility in the field."

"How?"

"Two wedges" she continued. "Split the flanks, chip off the outliers. Charge straight through, reform behind them. Follow with a mass charge to the center to break their cohesion. Don't allow ourselves to be engaged in a melee. Charge and retreat until they are all broken."

Claudia's gaze turned introspective for a moment. Doubt seeded in Alicia's mind, and she considered her own plan. Had there been fault in it? Surely not. It was a tried and true method that had worked many times. Not to mention, the setup was perfect for it. Open field, mass enemies. What was there to…

"No" Alicia interrupted, considering her suspicions. "Left flank will lead the charge. Take out their flank, wheel the battlefield, split them in half with my knights on one side, the Dawn Templars on the other. Crush them in the middle."

"Good" Claudia confirmed, a small smile crossing her stern countenance. She lifted a whistle to her lips and blew two short notes. The men holding the banners slowed to a stop, their postures relaxing. "A wise commander knows when to retreat and when to attack. The frontal charge is wonderful in the chronicles, but it puts too many lives at risk for something that can be achieved for a must lesser cost."

"I am glad to have learned such a lesson" Alicia admitted.

"It is easy to look at these exercises as play." Claudia's gaze drifted across the waiting line of Holy Iris knights. With the whistle blown, the knights of both orders had relaxed. Tension drained from their bodies as they allowed themselves to rest. Some appeared more relaxed than others.

"I will address my sisters' shortcomings" Alicia hurried to assure her mentor. "It will not happen again."

"Complacency kills" the older knight continued, not as a rebuke, but a lesson. The lessons never ended on these operations. Alicia never complained. Being able to sit at the feet of the master of the Dawn Templars was a treasure. "What do I always tell you, Alicia?"

"Practice makes permanent" she answered dutifully.

"Ah, so I do." A sparkle lit up Claudia's eyes, and she graced the younger knight with a smile. "That is the conclusion of this venture, then. You may release your knights back to Ken, should you desire. But I would request you stay with me a while."

"As you wish" Alicia agreed, suppressing the sudden giddiness that accompanied Claudia's invitation. It did not matter what the woman had planned. To be invited to stay behind with her mentor filled her with excitement. Easing her horse back towards her knights, Alicia barked the order for the Holy Iris knights to dismiss by file. The announcement met with cheers from the younger knights. A dismissal this early in the day meant the whole afternoon could be enjoyed in the streets of Ken. Most of her knights were young enough to look forward to drinking, shopping, or other activities that excited young minds.

To her surprise, Claudia dismissed her own riders as well, bidding them farewell for the day, and rode her mount over to the cluster of waiting men. A well-filled pouch dropped into the leader's hands, eliciting broad grins from the banner-carriers. Three cheers of "Levantine" rang across the field, and the men moved off towards the road with good-natured backslapping and boisterous conversation. The elder knight commander gazed back at Alicia with an amused smirk on her lips.

"You never want for volunteers" Alicia commented, eyeing the departing bodies.

"Pay them well and treat them with respect" Claudia intoned. "Besides, I doubt they complain of the company."

Gesturing after them, Claudia indicated a file of the Holy Iris knights. The young women had walked their mounts onto the road, dismounted, and strode alongside a cluster of the men. Though too far away to pick out words, Alicia noted the amicable tone of their voices, and heard laughter from both men and women alike.

"Idle minds" Alicia breathed.

"Shush" Claudia chided. "They are young, and full of life. As are you. What does it take, Alicia, for a man to catch your eye?"

"I'll tell you if it ever happens" Alicia muttered. This was a conversation they had partaken in a few times now. Once a year, since reaching eligible age. Claudia meant no harm from it. In fact, it seemed to amuse the older woman each time Alicia insisted that the married life was not for her. "How did you know? With Klaus, I mean."

"I didn't." A wistful grin started to ease onto the older knight's face, but she swallowed it down and fixed Alicia with a meaningful stare. "For three years, we walked and talked and studied together. I hadn't even realized I had fallen in love with him until he proposed."

"Sounds like he took quite a risk then."

"He may not look it, but Klaus is a brave man."

"Of course he is" Alicia snorted. "No ordinary man could have wooed Claudia Levantine."

They both chuckled, a quiet laughter that hung in the air for several seconds. When Claudia cleared her throat, Alicia fell silent and stared off to the abandoned windmill. It stood dejectedly in the sky, its wings torn and tattered, a rotting monument to remind all of the terrible thing that had occurred here.

"No, I don't know what sort of man could please me" Alicia whispered. Her skin tingled with need to change the subject. "May I ask why you led us here, for the exercise? You often prefer to take us east, towards harder terrain. This hardly taxed our forces. If anything, it was a short exercise. There must be another reason why we are here."

"Just so" Claudia agreed. She pointed towards the road, following it north until it disappeared behind the trees. "You know this road, yes?"

"It is the main road between Ken and the border" Alicia stated.

"And you saw the riders that came to the capitol last night."

"Yes. News from Vult and his Black Dogs, I assume. It was late and I did not want to disturb Lady Celeste."

Her decision sat well with the Knight Levantine, and Claudia nodded her approval. "A company of mercenaries have returned from Garan. There was some sort of scuffle at the border. The rider did not know the full details, but he claimed the returning mercenaries assaulted the garrison and claimed the fortress for themselves. Passage into Garan is blocked, and they refuse to let any more enter the wastelands."

"Assaulted the garrison?" Alicia bit back a curse. "Why are we not riding to the fortress with all of our knights? We should take it back and put those curs to death!"

"Perhaps." Claudia's even tone mellowed Alicia's anger. "Delegates from these mercenaries are riding to Ken as we speak. I would hear them out before I pass judgment."

"What judgment is there to pass? They assaulted a garrison."

"As I said, the rider was unsure of the details. He was approaching the fortress when he heard the commotion, saw men fighting, and fled. We do not know who is in the right, nor do we know the reasons behind any of their actions."

"That is why we are here, then." Alicia's brows furrowed in deep thought. "You intend to address these men here, away from the capitol."

"If this does not need concern our Goddess, then I would deal with it here."

"Then why send our knights away? Surely we should have a bodyguard with us!"

"Should we?" That dashing twinkle lit up Claudia's eyes. "Two of the Seven Shields need an armed retinue to speak with mere mercenaries."

"Well, this is dangerous" Alicia insisted. "There is no dishonor in seeking a proper protection."

"I appreciate your diligence, Alicia, but no, we are enough. There is only one mercenary in the entirety of Eostia that could challenge the two of us. And he is still in Garan."

Her earnestness shut down further argument. Resigning herself to remain unaided, Alicia huffed loudly and stared down the road. The older knight was not incorrect; the two knight commanders were fierce warriors, and Alicia could easily bet against ten Black Dogs without much fear. Still, this did not sit well in her gut. Perhaps it was the heat of the day. Silent, she waited, and the two knight commanders sat easily on their mounts. They did not have long to wait. Claudia knew the land well, and her understanding of logistics placed them exactly where and when she had intended.

Not long after the knights disappeared down the road, the distant tramp of horses echoed in the air. Alicia sat straighter, her attention drawn instinctively to the approach. Judging by the distance that they heard the echo, they were a few dozen strong. Her left hand drew to the hilt of her sword, resting anxiously on its comforting shape.

"Just the two of us" Alicia muttered.

Minutes passed in restless quiet, then the first of the riders came into view.

The first rider met her expectations. A tall man, armored in scale and a burgundy hauberk, his grave face framed by short black hair as he inspected the road ahead. The instant he cleared the trees his gaze snapped up to regard the two knight commanders, and for a flicker of a moment, Alicia was shocked by the piercing chill of his eyes. They bore a sharp, biting wit. She did not recognize the man; he appeared young for a commander, too young for her to have seen before in the Black Dogs ranks. Yet he led the party, riding in the honored position of the vanguard.

Behind him rode Louk Shannegh. Her blood chilled at the sight of the man. Dried blood coated his clothes. There was so much of it she could see it at a distance. His hood sat back on his shoulders, revealing the cold and heartless grimace that angered her each time it presented itself. He appeared no worse for wear, to her disappointment. Riding easily on a mount that clearly did not favor him. The horse twitched as it clopped along, shaking its head in disapproval at its rider.

But behind him, the figure that stole her gaze and set her blood boiling, was the Dark Queen herself. Alicia had never seen Olga Discordia before. She had only the faintest notion of what the woman looked like: a dark elf with harrowing features and a cruel expression. An aura of dread would spill out from her, cloaking those nearby in despair. She would be a terrible evil, a being of such pure malice that her very presence would inspire righteous fury. The sorceress who controlled armies of demons, who bent evil to her will and set them upon the good people of Eostia, she was a more terrible creature than any orc or ogre spawned in Garan.

Olga Discordia was a regal sight, that much was true and expected. Riding tall on her borrow mount, her clothes elegant and… in Alicia's eyes, more fitting in a high-class brothel than a throne room, the Dark Queen appeared every inch the imperious, condescending figure that Alicia had imagined. No sharp teeth or bloodthirsty stare, but the listless, uninterested expression she wore as she cast her attention over to Alicia and Claudia set her teeth on edge. It was not just disdain, Alicia understood. It was a total lack of interest or concern for the two knight commanders; Olga regarded them as little more important than the trees of the forest, or the abandoned farmhouse where a family had been murdered by roaming orcs.

"Alicia!"

Claudia's reprimanding tone cut deeply into her anger, slicing through the rage that built in her chest. Blinking back the fury, Alicia glanced back at her mentor. She had started forward, pushing her horse ahead of Claudia's. And her sword was now in hand.

"Put your blade away" Claudia warned, the sharp edge bleeding away. "You are a knight commander, and a Shield. Compose yourself."

"Yes, Lady Levantine." Thoroughly chastened, Alicia slipped her blade back into its scabbard and clenched her jaw. Heat roiled under her skin, her throat flushed red with suppressed anger as she balefully stared at the approaching party, singling out the woman who had caused her mother's death. The shock of seeing her was powerful; despite her own opinion, Alicia had not been prepared to see Olga Discordia in person. The overpowering desire to charge into the column and cleave the dark elf's head from her shoulders scratched at her mind until her vision blurred, hot tears collecting at the corners of her eyes.

"You must face her here" Claudia soothed, easing her horse to match Alicia. The older knight placed a comforting hand on Alicia's shoulder. "Here alone, so that you need not fear others see you struggle with your desires."

"That… my mother died by her soldiers' hands."

"Many have died by the demons. Your feelings are not out of order. But you must be better."

"I…" Her voice caught in her throat, and Alicia turned her head, hiding the tears from both Claudia and the riders. Swallowing several times, she gave herself a moment to collect herself. When she looked back at Claudia, the tears had stopped. Her face was pale, her eyes wet, but she nodded firmly and put a relaxed hand on the pommel of her sword. "I am a Shield, chosen by Celeste. I _am_ better than her. I will be better, I promise."

"There's my girl" Claudia murmured.

Alicia was not the only one who had lost family to Olga Discordia's hordes, she belatedly remembered. Claudia's father and brothers had all been lost to the demons in the last twenty years. This was as painful for her as it was for Alicia. That too was a lesson worth remembering. Steeling her nerves, Alicia fell into step with Claudia. The two knight commanders rode up to meet the incoming band.

It was not terribly large, in total. Barely enough to qualify as an escort. There was the leader, then Louk Shannegh, Olga Discordia and another dark elf- no, she was a half-elf, but primarily of dark elf blood- a red-haired woman with sun-kissed skin and a fiesty grin playing across her face, then ten more riders armed with swords and shields. It was not the escort she would have expected for the most powerful evil sorceress in the lands. They had no mages to suppress her power.

Was it truly an escort, or a procession?

"Hail, Knight Levantine" the leader greeted, lifting his hand informally. The man's voice matched his eyes, Alicia decided. Bright and vibrant, belonging to a rascal's soul. She did not know how to think of that. His demeanor was equally respectful as it was careless. The very aspect of overconfidence and surety. "What brings you out these ways, absent attendants?"

"You must be Magnus" the older knight commander replied, offered a subtle nod of affirmation. "Tales of the Bladestorm speak highly of your honor and command."

"The people of Eostia are generous" Magnus chuckled. His gaze switched to Alicia. She blinked once, again startled by his gaze, and quickly averted her eyes, clenching her jaw as she avoided letting her attention fall on Olga Discordia. "I see that two champions of Eostia stand before us. Miss Arcturus, you are a cool spring at the end of a long road."

Her mouth opened, a silent protest rising in her throat at the man's bold words. No sound formed, however, as heat choked her throat closed. A muted grumble emerged, and she glared at the man. Claudia's hand twitched in warning for her to remain silent.

"You come before us with Olga Discordia" Claudia stated, lifting her voice so that all could hear. "Yet we have heard rumors of discord and fighting at the border."

The dark elf's expression shifted ever so slightly, ears perking at the words.

"It was our fortune to have met them on the road" another voice interrupted. Louk Shannegh eased his mount forward alongside Magnus. "We deliver Olga Discordia to Celeste, as commanded by her grace. Of the border fort, that is another matter. Vult and the Black Dogs, every mercenary that has set foot in Garan, is lost."

A hammerblow would have struck her less. Alicia started, legs going stiff as she stood tall in the saddle, a cry of disbelief bursting from her mouth.

"That… cannot be true" Claudia said. "I do not believe you."

"We came upon them in the wastes" Magnus argued. "Without horses, pursued by Ulysses and a squadron of riders. Those Black Dogs had lost sense, and threatened their lives, as well as my own captains' for standing in their way. I cannot vouch for them all, but Louk Shannegh speaks with integrity, and I stand by his claims."

"Let us see what the Dark Queen has to say for the matter." Claudia held up a hand to silence him. "Speak."

Alicia glared at the dark elf, studying the woman as she sat softly on horse, her pink lips breaking their emotionless line to form a haughty smirk.

"Vult was known to me, before he led the Black Dogs into my ancient homeland" the Dark Queen murmured. Her voice was rich, a mesmerizing song that captivated her ears. For half a moment Alicia almost forgot that Olga's command had sent the warband that butchered her mother. "What has been unleashed in Garan has consumed them all. It is a fell darkness, an evil thing, such as has never before walked our world."

"Speak plainly" Alicia demanded, unable to contain herself. The half-elf stiffened beside Olga, one hand dropping threateningly to a dagger on her hip. Goddess, they still had weapons on them. This was no guarded travel. They treated the Dark Queen as an honored guest.

"A _daemon_ is what he calls the creature" the Dark Queen stated, lifting a slim hand to gesture at Louk Shannegh. "It possessed Vult, bent the mercenaries to its will. What remains in Garan are little better than the beasts I corralled and kept penned in the wastelands."

"We have wasted enough time here" Louk Shannegh interrupted. He offered a brief nod to the Dark Queen, as if begging her indulgence for his speech. "We need to speak with Celeste, and all the Shields that can be assembled. So let us keep on, and continue this conversation on the move."

Without waiting for agreement, he started forwards, and the rest of his party followed. Claudia turned her horse and joined them; Alicia did so only reluctantly. There was much to be explained, and Alicia did not believe a word of what had been given yet. Keeping her baleful gaze on the Louk Shannegh's broad back, she gripped the hilt of her sword and imagined what Vult would have to say when he returned. When this lying bastard was brought to revelation.

 **-v-**

"You're a liar!"

The room stood silent, Maia's words ringing in their ears like a thunderbolt. The fiery mercenary had risen so quickly her chair lay toppled behind her. Clenched fists paled as they ground into the table.

"Maia" Celeste cautioned, her voice rising just slightly, a note of reproach creeping into her tone.

"You're a damn liar" Maia shouted. The woman's voice cracked, grating sharply as hot tears burned across her cheeks. The target of her anger stood silent, standing as a statue, his disdainful grimace resting on the Maia with all the expression of a parent exasperated by petulant child. Resting one arm on the pommel of his sword in casual manner, Louk Shannegh weathered her storm, and the muttering of the other Shields, with expectant patience.

Her gaze shifted for a moment down to the dark elf he stood behind. Olga Discordia sat at ease in her chair, the same one that Louk Shannegh had occupied not long ago. The regal, aloof dark elf before her was not the same Olga she had known so long ago. Once there had been a light in those brooding eyes, a playful smirk teasing constantly on her lips. There had been a time, far too long in distant memory, that they had been thick as thieves, with Olga clamoring for entertainment and excitement. The two of them had been wonderful friends, in the past. And Olga had been full of life and mirth.

Not so the reserved figure before her. This Olga was something new, something… queenly. The wild youth that loved to dance barefoot around the fire had vanished in the long years spent in Garan. Now, she was a true ruler. The gravity of her posture, the weight in her gaze, it all spoke of a calm, collected individual that stalked rather than danced through life. The years weighed heavily on her. Olga Discordia was a mature woman now. Just as Celeste had become. She wondered if Olga recognized the high elf sitting on the throne.

"I assure you, if I intended to lie, I could have come up with something far more convincing and plausible than this." Louk Shannegh resumed speaking, both regarding Maia's outburst while simultaneously dismissing it as nothing of importance. "Vult and his men are lost. They encountered the thing I came to your world to track, and it was more than they could stand against."

" _Your world_ " Maia spat. "Now you claim to be of something else? Has the sun addled your brain? You" she thrust an accusing hand at the other new presence in the room. "What do you have to say?"

Magnus, commander of the Bladestorm, was not a man unknown to her. Tales of the exploits of the Bladestorm trickled out of Ansur from time to time. His command of five companies of the mercenaries maintained a fierce cordon protecting the people of that region. In the five years since gaining his captaincy in the ranks of the Black Dogs, Ansur suffered only one incursion that breached its borders. Reports of the young commander were that he possessed a reasonable mind, was fiercely loyal to his men, and maintained a healthy ambition to become the best commander the Black Dogs had ever seen. Luu-Luu spoke fondly of him as 'a good scrapper,' which was about the highest praise she had ever given a Black Dog.

His words would be honest, and his intentions pure.

"For what I can speak to, this man tells no lie." Magnus nodded slowly, bowing his eyes when Celeste looked upon him. Despite his confidence and swagger, the man appeared uncomfortable in the presence of herself. Few did, she knew. The pedestal on which she stood placed her far from the reach of the people of Eostia. "The men we encountered were raving, speaking of madness and things we could not understand. Yet they had intelligence, they were no lost fools. A power remains in the Black Fortress, and it is one we have not seen before."

On either side, her Shields voiced or held their reactions. Claudia and Alicia had been exposed to this on the road into the capitol; the clever leader of the Dawn Templars had maneuvered without her knowledge to meet them ahead of time. It was not something Celeste could fault her for, yet doubt seeded in her mind at the thought that Claudia thought her incapable of receiving such news raw. In all Celeste's years, none had questioned her ability to lead. Did Claudia do that now? Or was this born of desire to protect her after the visions that had plagued her mind.

"Sounds like black magic ta me" Luu-Luu quipped, her face half hidden by the oversized mug centered before her. "Hey, you're a black magic user, Dark Queen. How'd we know it wasn't you?"

"My queen would never stoop to something so low" the young half-elf snarled, taking a short step forwards, her hackles rising like a trained hound. She was young, her dark elf predominance placing her not many years past puberty. There was no mistaking the hatred in the young elf's eyes. The hatred of a woman wrong terribly, who had suffered more than a dozen lives should ever deserve. That ever present sense of guilt at the knowledge of how dark elf half breeds came to be gnawed at her while the blonde woman stood in her presence. Dark elves were incredibly rare south of their homeland. Those few that could be found were often victims of the skin trade she had fought for her entire life to curb. She did not know a single half-elf sharing dark elf blood that had not been birthed in an illegal brothel.

The very first thing Olga had ever taken seriously in her life had been the eradication of the skin trade. Olga's passion was what had pulled Celeste fully into the battle, and the two of them had put down several establishments by themselves before position demanded she rise above the vigilantism.

"The pathetic _human_ scum that took my queen's castle deserve what befell them." Her name was Chloe, and the vengeful spite with which she spoke informed all present that her dislike of humans ran far deeper than ignorant racism. "It is a pity they did not all die at the _daemon's_ hand."

"Those men are valiant warriors who defend Eostia against the very monsters your queen commanded" Alicia growled. The young Arcturus' scowl had not lifted since entering the gates of the capitol. Though she did not like mercenaries on principle, the impulsive young woman would not stand by while her allies were insulted. "Only a devil would cry out in the defense of a heathenous sorceress!"

"I will kill you for saying such things" Chloe cried, hands darting to her daggers. Alicia leapt to her feet, reaching for her own sword. At the end, closest to Olga and the others, Maia grabbed her own swords.

"STAND DOWN" Louk Shannegh bellowed, his voice slapping them all like a mighty blast of wind. Celeste flinched, gods help her but she flinched, a twinge of fear shooting through her belly as that hidden spark lit in the man's eyes. He had not moved, his posture remained as relaxed as if he stood amongst a garden speaking of the weather. Yet his visage turned suddenly sharp and deadly, terrifying as the darkness swept out from him. "Draw a blade and I will gut you upon it. Chloe, you honor your liege by staying silent, not hurling threats and insults. Alicia, sit down and act like a knight. Maia, you are a mercenary so I hold no expectations, but Celeste seems to have thought you a woman of some talent, so put that to use and hold your fecking tongue."

The three women stood frozen for a long moment, digesting his words, gauging the steel in his voice and the seriousness of his promise. One by one, they let go of their weapons and retreated from the promise of conflict. Maia remained standing, however, tears streaking her flushed cheeks. For a breathless minute, her white-knuckled grip on the hilts of her swords drew the eye of all present. The internal struggle etched on her face tore at Celeste's heart.

"I will not stand here when Vult's honor is called to question" she spat at last. Turning to the door, she stormed out, slamming the door with such spite that mugs trembled on the table at its closing. A momentary silence fell in her absence, and Celeste's heart sank in her chest.

She had always feared how this might go. Olga's return to civilization. Wounds ran deep here, felt sorely by all. There would be no easy days of rejoicing at their reunion and sharing of kind words. Everything had changed.

The Dark Queen's husky chuckle echoed ominously in the air. They all stared as Olga, long silent, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her sharp ear and took up the wine glass that had been offered on entering the room.

"It is useless to hold entreaties while children throw fits of passion. You should see these all out, Celeste, that we may talk as rulers, absent the petty cares and complaints of lesser beings."

"Speak for yourself" Luu-Luu snapped. "I am three hundred and twenty two, thank you very much."

"There are those who grow, and those who age" Olga replied, regarding Luu-Luu with a flat stare. Taking a careful sip of her wine, the dark elf rolled the taste in her mouth before swallowing and setting the glass down. Delicate fingers plucked a napkin and wiped them clean of an imaginary drop. "I care not for what you believe, nor what you consider true or false. There is but one truth to the matter. Vult and his Black Dogs are no longer their own men. They have been bent to the will of a great evil, one that endangers Eostia far more than the demon hordes ever could."

"You speak of a greater sorcerer" a quiet, measured voice chimed in. Prim had held her thoughts close since Olga's arrival, and though news had clearly distressed her, she controlled her voice well, and hardly let the roiling sea of emotion show. Louk Shannegh's announcement of Vult's fall had transfixed the poor girl as surely as a lance thrust from a charging knight. "You were deposed?"

Olga's gaze snapped over to Prim, eyes narrowing like a cat having found a mouse. The pink-haired princess paled at her direct attention, but refused to lower her head. "Deposed? Is that what you simpletons thought I was doing in Garan? Did you picture me a theatrical villain, cackling madly on my throne as I commanded legions of monsters to pillage and burn Eostia?"

"Is that not what you have done for the past hundred years? You command the Demon Legion."

"And during those years the demons plagued Eostia less than before" Olga countered, disdain dripping like ripe honey from her lips.

"We stood protected by the Goddess Reborn, and staunch warriors like the Black Dogs" Alicia challenged. "While your Legion sent army aft-"

"I grow weary of trading words with children" Olga interrupted. She fixed Celeste with her gaze, and for the beat of her heart, Celeste thought she saw the conspiratorial smile crease Olga's lips. It must have been her imagination. There was no mirth in Olga's face. Her expression was as cold the wastelands. "There stands a foe in Garan that you must prepare for. A foe far worse than the pitiful drivel I allowed to trickle into your lands."

"Perhaps it best that we limit audience" Claudia agreed, lifting a warning hand to silence the younger knight commander from her angry retort. Shooting Celeste a meaningful look, the Knight Levantine gestured around the table. "Heated tempers stand in way of honest discussion. Cooler heads are required at this moment. Lest harm be unleashed in careless word or action."

"...yes" Celeste declared, drawing scandalized glances from the Shields. "Prim, Alicia, Kaguya, Luu-Luu. Please give us the room. I will send for you should you be needed."

"Claudia" Alicia hissed, shooting her mentor a pleading glance. To which the older knight commander merely shook her head, and indicated the door. The scion of Arcturus rose slowly, her eyes growing wet, and cast one last spiteful glare at Olga and her retinue. Words formed, but held silent. She too stormed from the room, though took care to avoid slamming the door on those following.

The weight in her chest grew heavier, and Celeste closed her eyes, uttering a silent prayer for her Shields. Much would change now that Olga had been brought back into the fold. How it would all change remained to be seen. She prayed for the better.


	11. The Broken Council

**Author's Note: Surprise quick update! Had a couple days in a row with nothing to do, and wanted to get this out before I ran out of steam. Apologies for it being a bit shorter than normal.**

 **Reviewers-  
** Machcia **\- H-games. They don't make any sense. As for being thrown in a cell, well she really didn't do anything that crazy. I mean, if you were a soldier in 1945 and Eisenhower walked Hitler into the room and said everything was cool, I doubt you'd keep your chill.  
** ManWithAPlan113 **\- Exactly. There is no easy button to victory and friendship. Especially not where Warhammer40k is involved.  
** TakanaMakana- **No one is ever prepared for a giant fuck-off daemon army.**  
FrancisVamp0822 **\- Politics, the bane of humanity. Don't worry, there will be plenty of combat soon enough. And lots of tears. And a left arm.  
** V **\- Yeah, part of how I envisioned this was, while the Shields individually are pretty solid warriors, they've been living in relative ease, since the Black Dogs have handled the bulk of the combat. That being said, their individual combat prowess is still amazing. But there is training skill and combat skill.  
** SomeGuyOverHere- **I am trying to make each Shield unique enough in their reactions. Some are harder than others (literally don't give a crap about Kaguya, so she might get a bit of a cold shoulder from the writing effort), but Alicia's backstory concept is designed to pair with her in-game uncertainties. I mean, she's got all kinds of pressure weighing her down from hella angles, and nobody could be expected to keep it together when you meet the person who is (albeit indirectly) responsible for family death.  
** Anderel Tyrant- **People will be dropping like flies, I can promise you that. But not Nurgle flies.  
** Lorenzo98 **\- The scariest thing about Chaos is how it isn't an 'enemy' that you can 'fight.' It just is. Primordial forces are hella scary when written well, and Chaos has SO MUCH POTENTIAL to just make nightmare foes.**

 **enjoy. first bit is a flashback, in case you get confused.**

* * *

 _ **Bloodsalted Flatlands, Hierono**_

 _The cackling monster vanished in a splash sulfur and slime, its body hurled back into the warp._ Durendal _howled, sweeping past the melting corpse and burying itself in the chest of a scarred and flensed corpse-slave. It too fell, though its mortal form merely crumbled to ancient dust. Pressing onward, he loosed a hand to draw the laspistol and fire a burst into the onrushing horde of silent warriors._

" _Where are the fecking Dragons" he roared, his voice nearly drowned by the thrumming shriek of a multimelta firing to his left. A scything light swept through the crowd, lasting only half a second, but in that half-second a dozen bodies vaporized. The opening was quickly filled by more corpse-slaves milling forwards._

" _Taking their time" the gunner shouted, his ever-cheerful laughter piercing the din of battle. "You know the damn Astartes. They always need to claim victory at the last second!"_

 _Slipping his laspistol back into its holster, he took_ Durendal _in two hands and charged into the mob. Whispers flitted past him, unseen bolts striking corpse-slaves down. The one closest lifted a chipped and unstarted chainsword, undeadly in purpose but powered by mindless strength to crush any man._ Durendal _cleaved its arm at the elbow, sending the weapon flying. Ten more stood behind it, crawling to their deaths._

 _Second deaths._

 _A lasblast snapped past his head, narrowly missing his ear. Dodging to the side, he threw himself into the muck and rolled awkwardly onto his knee. The move cleared him from further shots, but put him dangerously close to the copse-slaves. Frantic horizontal slashes disemboweled three of them before the wave of flesh slammed into him and knocked him to the ground. Hurling the first away, he forced himself to his feet, gritting his teeth to hold in a scream of pain as teeth sank into his leg._

 _More unseen impacts struck the corpse-slaves, toppling them from hidden vantage in the unnatural fog that hung low over the plain. Flickers of light flashed across that fog, muffled orders and shouts of the surviving Cadians scattered through the mire. He did not expect many left; with each blast of light from the structure ahead, more fell to depravity and insanity._

" _There!" He thrust_ Durendal _towards the accursed tower. Relinking to the Cadian vox network, he dialed into the command channel and announced his intent to all survivors. "The tower is in reach. Press on! We have one chance to end this. Do not dishonor your homeworld!"_

 _Too few replies greeted his command. Lost in the fog, the Cadian regiment had been torn apart by lurking horrors and ambush. The survivors could not be counted on to make any dent in the hordes of_ Virtuoso's slaves _. An entire hive city turned to madness. They had underestimated the daemon's power. It was a mistake he could not have afforded to make. Now they paid the price for his arrogance._

 _More corpse-slaves shuffled into view, appearing as specters out of the fog. Rhaskos joined him, multimelta hissing as it vented heat from its coils. "Should have brought tanks" the man grumbled._

" _Well, there were supposed to be Astartes here" he growled back._

 _To his right, a pair of cloaked figures prowled out of the darkness. Their forms were slim, tall, moving in mirror image to each other. Each held a bow of xenos make, exotic as the blood they carried. Picking their way through the dead, they took position alongside him. The closer one peered his way, her dazzling blue eye peeking out under her hood._

" _The Black Dragons have been withheld" she murmured, her lilting voice a cool breeze in the mire surrounding them. "Until the fog rolls back. They are unwilling to commit their forces into unknown dangers."_

" _Feck me" he breathed. "So it's the four of us, then."_

" _Bah, I've seen worse odds" Rhaskos boasted. He fiddled with his weapon for a moment before sighing in disgust and unhooking his suspensor web. The heavy weapon dropped into the muck with a soft squelch. In its place he drew a two-handed chainaxe. The engine uttered a fierce growl as he revved the blades. "Bolter would have been a better choice."_

 _In the distance, bathed in sudden light of sorcery, a towering monstrosity revealed itself. The daemon threw back its head and howled, its piercing cry rolling across the plain with the force of a physical wave. He felt its power spill over him, its syrupy presence burning his senses. The bloodcall howled at its intrusion, for the audacity of the creature that sought to claim him as its own._

 _Beside him, the cloaked figures hardly reacted to the daemon's power. Their souls stood well-protected, their minds shielded by their own powerful sorcery. Standing further away, the silent one nocked her bow, psychic force forming the bolt, and loosed it at the daemon in the distance. A flicker of white lightning signalled its impact on the beast. A pained shriek changed its tune, the cry breaking into one of agony._

" _Right, then." Louk Shannegh rolled his shoulders and lifted_ Durendal _. "So we just have to hold out until the fog clears."_

" _Or we kill it" the shooter growled. Her voice mirrored that of her sister, yet held a much darker edge. A killer's edge, one filled with hatred and rage. "What use are the vaunted Astartes if a little fog keeps them from battle?"_

" _Or we could kill it, as Arahan wishes" Louk agreed. He released a bark of laughter. "To hell and back?"_

" _To hell and back" Rhaskos answered._

" _Best not to keep the devil waiting."_

 _Louk broke into a run, and his companions charged behind him._

 **-v-**

 **The White Citadel, Ken**

"Why couldn't it have been Orks" Louk sighed. He stood outside the council chamber, sitting haphazardly on the edge of the railing, staring out at the capitol of Ken. For two hours now, Celeste Lucross and Olga Discordia communed in secret. It had not galled him to be so sent away. Three hours had passed after sending out the rest of the Shields as he and Claudia held privy to their council. The last two hours had less to do with strategy and politics than it did personal reunion.

It was easy to see that Olga's boast of the history they shared held more weight than simple words. The pain that had shown, if only for brief moments, in the high elf's eyes. Pain of lost friendship, of trust shattered and torn. It was a pain he was too familiar with.

"Orcs?" Prim eyed him from her seat on the bench along the opposite wall. Silent as a mouse, she had waited since being sent out from the chamber. For the last two hours now, her eyes had remained fixed on him, studying him, judging him, willing the entirety of Louk's experience in Garan to play before her eyes so she could see it for herself. To that end, he respected the girl. Reddened eyes blinked back tears that she no longer had the strength to shed, but she still held herself with dignity.

"My orks" Louk replied, simply for the sake of something to take his mind off the troubled thoughts stirring in his head. A regiment of trained soldiers, equipped to peerless standard and supported by two companies of Astartes. That was what it had taken to stop the daemon before, but that was only in its infancy, while its power remained weak and uncertain. He couldn't amass even a fraction of that power here. "That is a threat you all would believe. I ask Eostia to trust in a power that cannot be described. To fear an enemy that your worst imagination could not bring to bear."

"Vult is truly gone then."

Her voice nearly broke at the words. The agony of heartache spilled from her lips. Suppressing the instinctive sneer that rose at such an emotional display, Louk merely nodded and dug in a pocket to find a lho stick. He had precious few left, even with how sparingly he took them. A day like this was an exception. Striking a match against the marble column of the railing, he lit the stick and took a long, relaxing drag.

"Him and every man he led into the wastes."

"But not you. Why not you?" Her tone held no accusation, but he knew her intent. As gentle and naive a soul as she was, Prim would have sacrificed him in a heartbeat to have Vult back. The girl's soul ached. The wound Vult's loss had cut would not heal quickly. "Why did he have to fall?"

"Because I am a foe the daemon fears" was the only reply Louk could muster. He silenced himself with another take of the lho stick. It was a rotten smell, but it reminded him of home. "Vult was a good man. I liked him. But he was not a threat."

"Then why didn't it kill you?"

"Because it is not the daemon's nature to kill its foes." Lifting his leg, Louk turned back into the hallway and sat with his back to the open air. The precarious nature of his perch did not worry him in the slightest. " _Virtuoso_ is a spider, not a barbarian. It toys with its prey, it encircles it, surrounds it and cuts off its hope before devouring the most succulent meal its kind can engorge on: despair."

"It seeks to make you suffer, then?" She scowled, her heartshaped face sharpening. "Why must we pay for its hatred of you?"

"Because it is a true daemon. A creature of evil intent. If I were not here, the fact would not lessen its ill desires. You stand lucky that I am here to help you stand against it."

"You say it came here from another world, and you followed with it?"

"Yes."

"Then the gods are truly cruel." She lifted her hand and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. "To place such calamity upon us."

He did not find it worth mentioning that the dark gods were the very beings that birthed the foul spawn like _Virtuoso_. Choosing to hold his silence, he finished off the lho stick and flicked the ash out into the air. The stub went in his pocket. No point in causing offense over something so simple. The pink-haired princess stewed in her own thoughts, glancing up from time to time as if to speak, but in the end chose to hold her thoughts private. It was refreshing to see one so restrained. The people here were too outspoken. They acted first, thought later. Prim at least understood the merit of schooling her words.

"I thought I had killed it" he said after some time. Prim's attention shifted to him, and her expression bore plain expectation. "I had my sword in its damn chest. We defeated its army, shattered its mortal form."

"It is a powerful foe" Prim breathed, understanding lighting in her eyes.

"I have seen your warriors, the Black Dogs. My only comfort is that the same lack of weapons to defeat it mean it will also lack weaponry. It will be a leveled playing field."

"How do we defeat it?"

"Luck." Louk shrugged. "To kill a spider, you have to draw it out of its web. This one is so very clever."

The princess rose, gliding up to her feet, and stepped over to the other side of the column. Her ivory hands clutched the railing, and she gazed over the city with a fitful grimace. "How many will die, before that can be done? You claim this evil is far greater than the legions of demons. How much worse?"

For a moment he drank in the profile of her face. Sharp, pleasing features with a softness of spirit smoothing the edges. Prime Fiorire was a gem of a woman, a beautiful little doll of a kind he had known men to kill for. It was a shame to see one such as her in such danger. But that was what the dark gods did best. Corrupt and destroy the beautiful things of creation. The faintest touch of anger spurred in his heart, his disgust for _Virtuoso_ rising like bile in his throat.

"Princess, there will come a day you beg for the demon legions to have come upon your lands."

 **-v-**

The fading light of the sun heralded the summoning of the Shields. The entirety of the Shields assembled, drawn by Claudia's order. Even had the private audience of Olga Discordia run into the night, elves were as susceptible to hunger as humans. At the Knight Levantine's command, Celeste's cooks prepared a meal for them all, and stood waiting outside the doors to the chamber with food on carts, all waiting to be allowed in to serve their Goddess.

Alongside the servants, the Shields waited for a glance into the mysterious conversation happening inside. It encouraged Claudia to know that Louk Shannegh had been excluded from the proceedings. Though she harbored no trust for the dangerous dark elf queen, Olga Discordia was but one voice against Celeste's own. She and Louk Shannegh could not be in conspiracy if only one remained inside the chamber. The man's ambitions and motives remained in her reach. He would not be poisoning Celeste's ear without Claudia by her side.

The man himself had not left the chamber hallway since being sent out. His patience was impressive; even Prim had given up on being let back in after five or so hours of waiting. But Louk Shannegh had remained for seven now, almost the entirety of the day. Yet he appeared as at ease as when they had strode out of the chamber together. From time to time the man cast his gaze over the waiting Shields, showing little real interest. His attentions always returned to the world outside the White Citadel, and to the mountains to the north.

The seriousness of his expression did a little to assuage her distrust of the man. He clearly believed that danger remained in Garan, and there was no trace of dishonesty on his face. Something had gone badly in Garan. Of that she had no doubt. But what it was that had gone so wrong remained to be revealed. Her eyes drifted again to the blade on his hip. Its build intrigued her. A bastard sword, long enough in length that she could picture it wielded in one hand or two. The warrior in her soul had a nagging desire to see it in action. The man had proven his mettle against Vult in the little duel the two men…

 _Vult_.

Her jaw tightened, and she forced herself to look elsewhere. Maia stood dourly by her side, hands planted firmly, if non-threateningly, on the hilts of her swords. The self-proclaimed mercenary queen's rage at the accusations laid at Vult's feet had not dulled in the slightest, even with the many hours that had passed. Projecting now a sullen anger, she stewed in her thoughts and cast hate-filled glares at Louk Shannegh. The woman fairly vibrated with the desire to rush across the hallway and shove the man off his perch on the railing. The man knew it as well, and perhaps that was why he avoided ever meeting her gaze. Not out of fear or lesser courage, but out of desire to avoid a confrontation that need not be had.

That she could appreciate. While she disliked the man, she could not lie that he had some measure of tact.

Of course, she could not ignore the slight figure poised in the corner of the hallway, not quite hiding behind Louk's larger form. Chloe, half-elf, born to a dark elf mother. The young woman's silvery blonde hair was unique among her kind. Claudia had never seen even a halfblood with that color. Powerful elven genes rarely allowed human traits to show predominance. She huddled with her back to the wall, watching them all with open distrust, arms crossed over her chest as she waited, still as a statute.

What concerned her the most was not Maia, surprisingly, but Alicia. The young Arcturus had taken her dismissal from the chamber as a direct insult to her character. Where Maia stewed, Alicia seethed. The heat of her anger flared anew on entering the hall. The sight of Louk Shannegh sent her clenching for her weapon. It was a hard day for her. Meeting the Dark Queen had rattled her far more than she would ever admit, and her raw nerves were only further inflamed by this talk of new war, of Vult's fall, and of Louk Shannegh's continued arrogance and plotting.

The only reason she had held her silence against the man was because of the visions shared by Celeste. She had thought those mere warnings of should Vult fail to bring Olga to heel. Now those warnings haunted her. Celeste has never shown fear over the forces of the Demon Legion. Concern, uncertainty, but never fear. It was beneath her. These visions had brought her to tears, had torn at her sanity, reduced her to a shadow of her strong self. It was a truth she did not want to believe. Something she could not bring herself to admit.

Louk Shannegh spoke the truth.

The damning admission, even silenced by mere thought, terrified her. The demons of Garan had always been a plague, but a manageable one. The cost of holding them at bay had always been high. The worry of raiding bands creeping over the mountains had kept her up many nights. To think that something more fierce than the demons could arise chilled her blood. If what Louk Shannegh claimed was true, Vult's Black Dogs backed by the hordes of demons would smash Eostia to bits. The Black Dogs knew their strengths, their weaknesses, their numbers and tactics.

Goddess, it would not be a war.

It would be a slaughter.

Her afternoon had been spent planning. Sifting through numbers, calculating tax rates to raise supplies, the population numbers to instate a draft. She estimated that five thousand levies could be raised by the end of the next month. Nearly five times that many Black Dogs had crossed over to Garan before Louk Shannegh had the Bladestorm lock down the border crossing. Even then, there was no telling if mercenary units had crossed over through smaller passes. The last records, pulled from Vult's very office in the barracks outside the White Citadel, listed all forces of the Black Dogs totalling to forty thousand under arms, four thousand delegated to border patrol, with another one thousand scattered across the regions in recruitment. Forty five thousand mercenaries. Battle-hardened and well-trained warriors that rivalled any soldiers she or the others could levy. Their corps of battle wizards were the only standing force of militarized magic users in the land, too. To counter the wizards, they would need to develop new tactics.

She did not know how to counter massed magic users.

"You know you could fall from there" a chipper voice interrupted the tense silence of the hallway. Luu-Luu's irresistible cheer had not suffered for the long day. Halflings were notoriously resilient, and Luu-Luu had always been a ray of sunshine.

"You don't say?" The man made a show of peering over the edge. "That'd be gravity, isn't it?"

"Ha!" She stuck her tongue out at him. Leaning up against the same pillar his boot rested against, the halfling tapped his shoe. "So what made you such a sourpuss?"

Claudia expected no response, or perhaps a derisive sneer from the man. To her surprise, Louk Shannegh graced the halfling with a bemused grin. "I survived."

"Survived what? Your sense of humor?"

Several of the Shields perked up. Despite their dislike of the man, none were willing to miss any information he might give. Whether to be used against him later, or simply to know more of the man. Claudia did not miss the sly glance he shot across their faces; he was all too aware of their sudden interest. His ears missed nothing. Always listening, thinking. It reminded her of herself. That man was a predator. The first and last thought she had every time he came to mind.

"The last beast I hunted took an entire city under its control. It turned the population to mindless slaves, and set them against the forces I brought to slay it."

"An entire city?" Even Luu-Luu appeared stunned by the revelation. "How many? How?"

"It is a beast of the darkest nightmare. Ten million souls lived in that city. It corrupted all of them."

"... _million_?" Maia scoffed, forming her jaw as if to spit in disgust, but decided against marring the floor of the hallway. "At least you could give a real number. Bullshit has to be believable, asshole."

"If I intended to inflate a tale, I could fill your heads with images you would drool over. I do not lie. Not over something this trivial. So cease the hot air and hold silence."

A snarl bared her teeth, and Maia stepped forward, her eagerness to fight the man winning against her self-control. Claudia started forward to intervene, knowing with certainty that it would go badly for Maia should it come to blows. They all knew it.

Then Louk fixed Maia with a single, deathly look. A glare that tore the anger from the woman's heart and replaced it with a cold fear. Maia stumbled, nearly tripped over her own feet as her ruddy face malevolence of his anger dulled the most vibrant spirits in the hallway. Even Luu-Luu shrank back from him, startled by the power of his simple look.

Maia retreated back to the wall, her hands dropping to her sides.

The doors to the council chamber opened.

Celeste and Olga stood just inside the chamber. They stood as one, slightly parted, gazing out at the assembled faces in surprise, for Celeste, and disinterest, for Olga. Yin and Yang, they were, Claudia thought. The pure golden high elf and the sultry, dangerous dark elf. Neither appeared any worse than they had been before; clearly there had been no fighting between the two. But there was no joy either. Celeste's countenance held sorrow, though hidden behind a well-schooled veil.

His dark look vanishing, Louk slid off the railing and landed on his feet, straightening with a popping of his spine. He bowed his head, tipping it in deference, though Claudia was not sure to which woman he offered respect. "Ladies."

"You saved me the trouble of sending for you all" Celeste greeted, sweeping her eyes over the assemblage. A warm smile broke the tiredness of her expression at the sight of the food. "How thoughtful. Please, come in. I am certain we are all hungry."

At her invitation, they filed into the chamber. Louk waited for them all to go in first, a defensive tic intended to keep the more volatile women from his backside. Yet his eyes lingered, first on Celeste herself, then the Dark Queen, inspecting them with more than passing interest. Her instinct was that he attempted to gauge their mood for a clue as to what had passed between them. If he found hint, it was of a kind Claudia could not catch. She knew Celeste's tells, and those were all dormant now. The high elf goddess had mind only on food. Solid food had not passed her lips since before their arrival.

More chairs had to be brought in, to accommodate the extra body to the meal. Olga occupied the place of honor at the foot of the table, with Louk on her left and Chloe on her right. The rest sat as always, though the noticeable tension in the air spoiled any attempt at light hearted banter. That was a shame. The Shields rarely enjoyed a meal in such numbers. To have one now, when moods were dour, bode ill.

The servants brought prepared meals to each. Allergies and preferences had been written down long ago, and each guest received a meal to their accommodations. Louk Shannegh, she knew, had no such attention. His meal had no special care, for his peculiarities were unknown, and Claudia had not urge to see them discovered. The roast duck was of the highest quality, of course. It would never be said that Celeste's guests ate poorly.

The Goddess invoked a blessing to their meal, then the eating began. No conversation was had. The oppressive silence of unease broke only to the sound of sipped drink or the clacking of utensils. The Dark Queen ate gingerly: her manners were immaculate, something Claudia had not expected from a person who had lived a full century in the company of demons and monsters. Yet she showed all the regal discipline of a refined lady. It was a disservice to place her alongside those brutes she had commanded, at least in this regard.

It was Luu-Luu who finished her meal first, as often the halfling did. Having wolfed down a side of pork, literally a whole side, and devoured the accompanying bowl of vegetable and potato hash that could have served a family of four, the halfling put her hands behind her head and let out a long, dramatic sigh.

"Well, this is about as cheery as an elven funeral. Hey Reaper, know any jokes?"

The man paused, the lower half of his face hidden by a napkin. Regarding the halfling with that same bemused look, he wiped his face and set the napkin on his lap. "Your curiosity is quite endless, isn't it?"

"Eh, you're new here. I already know all of Prim's jokes." Luu-Luu dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, one that they all could clearly hear. "She's only got, like, five of them. Little thing like her doesn't know any real good ones, if you know what I mean."

Prim let out a scandalized gasp, her face flushing.

"I'm afraid you wouldn't get my jokes. Context is everything."

"Aw, maybe when the 'proper' ladies ain't around then." The garrulous halfling winked. "Well, then, you wanna finish the story you were telling us out in the hall?"

"I doubt the company would care for it." Louk took a long swig from his glass. One of the lurking servants hurried forward to refill it, but he slid his hand over the cup to indicate he had partaken of enough wine for the night. His guarded approach to their alcohol had certainly changed since his first time in this room, Claudia realized. The man was on his guard. As if they were… not quite the enemy, but clearly not true allies. She could not fault him for that.

"You're making yourself to be a real bore, you know that?" Luu-Luu yawned. "And I thought you would be fun."

"That is an accusation that has not been laid at my feet in many years" the man admitted. His gaze swept the assembled women, settling on Celeste. Claudia hid her inspection of the Goddess behind a drink from her own glass. The Goddess clearly stiffened at his gaze, her breath catching slightly in her throat. Dangerous thoughts pricked at the edge of her mind, and Claudia hurriedly forced them down.

Clearing her throat, Claudia stole the man's attention. "What are you plans now, Master Shannegh? You successfully carried out your appointed task, as entrusted by our revered Goddess. Where does your future take you now?"

"To war" was his simple answer. One that sent a chill down Claudia's spine. Alicia tensed beside her, breath quickening as her anger resurfaced at the thought. "The coup that wrested the Black Fortress from Olga's control set events into motion that I need to study, to counter. I would take the Bladestorm and gather those Black Dogs that remain in Eostia, to retrain them into a force prepared for when terror and death come over the mountains."

"You speak as if they will serve you" Maia growled. "The Black Dogs serve Vult. And when he returns from Garan, you can bet he will not take kindly to your usurping his command."

"When he returns, you will thank your gods I stole them from him."

"Vult is not lost!" Maia's fist slammed into the table. "Stop. Saying. That!"

"Maia" Celeste interjected, quieting the mercenary. "Please, your concerns are noted, and will be addressed. Master Shannegh, if you would."

"Apologies." He bobbed his head. "I merely answered the question."

"Regardless of that desire, you pledged fealty to Celeste. You are now a sworn agent of her will." Claudia regarded Celeste expectantly. This was not the best time to bring it up, but it might serve to cool tensions leading into the next day, and she knew that this matter would not solve itself in a day. Perhaps not even in a week. "Our Goddess has say in your path forwards."

"This is true" Celeste acknowledged. Louk Shannegh grunted at the exchange, clearly not pleased by it, though not surprised. "To that end, I would ask a responsibility of you, Master Shannegh."

"Your will" he said, and lifted his hands palms up, fingers curled into loose fists. "My hands."

"Olga Discordia and her retainer are honored guests" Celeste began, gesturing with her hand to silence any voices of disapproval. "As you are the most familiar with them, I would ask you take service as their guardian. It is a serious responsibility. Their lives would be in your hands."

"I doubt they need much in the way of protection" Louk said, drawing a sidelong smirk from the dark elf queen.

"Olga and I have discussed it at length, and she is of agreement that her position here is… precarious. I would have her remain in the walls of the White Citadel for some time, but even then, fear of her may lead to danger."

"Imagine that" Alicia muttered with a scowl. "People fearing the murderous hag that led armies of demons against us for decades."

"Alicia" Prim warned, casting pleading eyes at her cousin.

"No." The scion of Arcturus rose from her seat. Her anger had cooled, covered by a cold determination that told Claudia she was not going to enjoy what was said next. "My Goddess, forgive me, but I cannot do this. I will not sit and share meal with that witch! Her demons murdered my mother. They enslaved and raped and killed our people for a hundred years under her reign, and you are worried about _her_ safety? I refuse to be a part of this. If that means I must give up my place in your confidence, then I will do so willingly. But I will not treat her as an ally, much less an honored guest. You" she indicated Louk Shannegh, "claim that Vult and his men were lost in Garan. If that is true, which I doubt, then she not only is responsible for all the death and carnage of decades, but now the deaths of Vult and his men. How can you allow that?"

"Alicia, sit down" Claudia demanded, gripping the girl by her arm.

"Stop, Claudia." Celeste's voice did not rise, but the quiet command rolled over them all. Claudia dutifully dropped her hand, turning expectantly to her Goddess. Sadness filled Celeste's eyes, but when she spoke, there was strength of conviction filling her words. "Alicia, I ask that you wait until tomorrow before you make such a rash decision. There is much you do not yet know."

"I know enough" Alicia insisted. "There is too much blood on her hands. And I will not be party to this."

"Will you not wait until the morning?"

Alicia Arcturus, the last of her blood, youngest commander any Knight order had ever possessed, squared her shoulders to the Goddess Reborn, and shook her head. "No, my Goddess. It scours my soul to share the same air as her. I would rid myself of this place, if she is to remain."

"I see." A single tear welled in Celeste's eye. "Then I bid you a safe return to Feoh."

"Goddess." Refusing to turn her gaze to Claudia, or Prim's horrified face, Alicia bowed stiffly and stepped out from behind her seat. "It was a pleasure to work as a Shield."

"I do not take that from you" the high elf informed her. "You will always stand a Shield of Eostia."

Alicia stalked from the room. Prim rose to follow, clearly seeking to have words with her cousin, but Celeste ordered her to remain.

"She has made her choice" Celeste told the young princess. "Her heart may soften, yet not this night. It is regrettable, but we cannot fault Alicia for wounds inflicted in the past. Many have suffered the touch of the demons. Those wounds do not heal by mere desire."

The elves at the far side of the table wisely held their tongues, though Claudia glowered at the dark elf's smirk. Olga Discordia was enjoying the chaos her arrival had caused. The same could not be said for the rest of the Shields.

"To hell with this, then." Maia pushed to her feet. This time Claudia could not be restrained by Celeste's plea, and rose as well to face the mercenary.

"You serve your Goddess" Claudia snarled, the hint of violence rising in her at such blatant disrespect. "Alicia mourns her lost mother, and for that she is allowed to leave, knowing full well she will return when her senses have cleared and the heartache of freshly opened wounds heals. You, will sit down and obey your Goddess. The only wound you have suffered is your pride, and that is neither of note, or importance. Sit. Down."

Stunned by Claudia's vehemence, Maia mutely fell into her chair. Claudia stood for a moment longer, seething with rage, her veins thrumming with rushing blood. It did not matter over what they quarreled. They all owed fealty to Celeste, and it was their duty to trust in her judgment. Especially when they did not know the scope of what events surrounded them.

Needless to say, the rest of the meal passed in utter silence.


	12. Battleborn

**A/N: I'm back! had a few busy weeks with work, training, hobbying, etc... This chapter is actually only half of what I had planned to put in it, because I got a lot more written for it than I had expected to get done.**

 **So fun RPG story. I run multiple, MULTIPLE Warhammer 40k rpgs. In one of the parties, we have this character named "Alpharius" (I'll give you 18 guesses which Legion he is from). Now, "Alpharius" and his Night Lord buddy were planning an assassination mission in a city that the rest of the warband was encircling. They were on a shrine world, so the ecclesiarchy is prime leadership in most of the planet. The devised plan was to assassinate the head ecclesiarch of the city while he was giving an impassioned speech to the people to whip them into a frenzy to fight the incoming cultist hordes. Night Lord fails to climb the basilica overnight, ends up hiding in the tunnels. "Alpharius" does the gargoyle pose above, waits for his moment and, when the time is right...**

 **Superhero landing. Specifically, the player announces he is attempting a superhero landing. Flawless execution ensues.**

 **"Alpharius" leaps off the basilica roof and slams down between the ecclesiarch and the Sister of Battle commander. Decapitates the Sister with his power sword, and fires an overcharged plasma shot directly in the the ecclesiarch's face. Immediately turns on the stunned crowd of civilians and bellows "BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"**

 **Panic breaks loose, everyone stampedes. "Alpharius" slips out amidst the chaos and goes back to the tunnels and leaves the city. Meanwhile, the Night Lord goes to provide back up when he hears the screams start. His aim was to fly (using jump pack) high above the basilica and drop like a comet, throwing grenades and firing his bolter as he goes. Rolls for it. nat 00. Faceplants into the side of the basilica at about jump-pack-kilometers-per-hour. Knocks himself unconscious. "Alpharius" has to drag him back into the tunnels.**

 **This is why I love rpgs.**

 **Reviewers-  
Ragna-** I never put too much effort into arguing the why's and why not's of an H-game. They are exactly written to make sense.  
 **Guest-** I mean, it depends on your definition of fun...  
 **ManwithaPlam113-** Claudia has the advantage of years on many of the Shields. That, and they can't ALL be morons. Somebody has to be the voice of reason.  
 **Anderel Tyrant** \- Nah, they aren't getting 40k reinforcements. And Virtuos isn't a full keeper of secrets. Though he is pretty damn powerful.  
 **FrancisVamp0822-** Although Alicia's mother story is OC in this story, when you think about it every Shield should hate Olga. She was kind of the leader of the demons for a long time. In a hyper-realistic story, Olga would be in chains in a dungeon for months before they brought her out, assuming she wasn't just executed. And even then, she'd just get blamed for everything that happened.  
 **V-** eh, that's your choice. It really isn't that childish to refuse to work alongside "literally Hitler." I mean, Olga had spent a century leading the demons into Eostia, as far as they know. That's pretty damning.  
 **The Storm Master 567-** Without spoilers, you are fairly spot on with forecasting Claudia's relationship with him. I meant, Louk (and all Inquisitors in 40k lore) are basically Lawful Evil. Most of the Shields would claim Lawful Good or Lawful Neutral at the worst. Or, according to some people, Lawful Stupid. :D  
 **Lorenzo98-** Louk's giving that information out sparingly. Knowledge is power, after all. And if he goes about terrifying everybody before the daemon even strikes, it will just aid the daemon. He's got to be careful.  
 **SomeGuyOverHere** \- I spent a good three days while in a prelicensing class sketching out my plan for making Kaguya more important as a character. She'll end up being pretty sweet. And honestly, Rhaskos doesn't have a story yet. I just happened to need a human buddy for Louk and was watching the Spartacus series for the umpteenth time.  
 **Superdragonisgod-** Chaos is going to get a lot more than Vult by the end of this.

* * *

 **Barracks Square, Ken**

Magnus had assembled every Black Dog in the city. Six hundred stood in ordered lines fifty wide, filling the drill square with ranks of polished chainmail and dark tunics. Their weapons gleamed with cleaning oils, and not a man showed a hair out of place for this unexpected, ,yet well-practiced formation. Banners of blade and red hung limply above the mercenaries, each carrying the pennants of individuals companies and their respective leaders. Four such companies stood present in Ken.

Sappers under the command of a man called Khoros the Axe occupied the front of the formation. Each carried a sturdy battleaxe, with a broad round shield slung over their backs. Three hundred strong, they formed the core of Ken's defenses. Each man stood nearly as tall as Louk himself, and showed the muscles to cleave their axes through orc-flesh without difficulty. Their reputation from the field was one of vicious determination and tenacity in the field.

The second company of one hundred and thirty followed Eisley Surefoot, an archer of some renown who hailed from Ur. The strange sight of the beastkin had piqued Louk's curiosity, and guarded interest, but it took only a cursory examination to conclude that Eisley was no twisted mutant or spawn of wretched corruption. Her skin was dark as a Nocturne native, obsidian fur sprouting near her elbows and continuing up to her shoulders and throat. He imagined that same fur extended down her body, covered as it was by a leather hauberk and skirt. The humanity faded even more to her face, a hawk-like structure of bone and cartilage that too-closely resembled a beak. Large, round eyes blinked unwaveringly as she stood with her company, flicking back and forth with lightning speed as she took in her surroundings, missing nothing. Her archers wore light leather, some nothing more than hide or fabric as their fancy pleased them, but each carried a longbow and a knife. There were plenty of other beastkin in her company, he noted. Yet there wasn't another in any of the other companies. He had not seen them before in Vult's ranks, for that matter.

Third in ranks were the ronin of Thorn, a contingent of seventy swordsmen, each armed and armored in personal preference. Their armor was exotic, curiasses and scales, helmets fashioned to show the faces of monsters. Each one sported a banner attached to their backs, bound by rope and leather, each unique to the person wearing it. Their commander went by Yosai, though none outside of his company knew if that name was his, or merely a title. The ronin were an enigmatic bunch, according to Magnus. Small bands of them had made their way out of Thorn and joined the Black Dogs, but they operated more as auxiliary units than standard line troops.

Last in the formation stood the pikemen of Tagilli, one hundred men with spears three times their height. Armored in heavy plate, they lacked maneuverability, but had the reach and discipline to keep the foe at bay. Even a charging Ork couldn't barge through a hedge of steel spear tips. Each man had fashioned his own pike, cutting down the tree from which the shaft had been forged. Fighting in five ranks deep, they excelled at holding a vital point on the line, or if called to fight at Ken, the gate. Tagilli's pikemen were stout and courageous men.

Six hundred men. With the Bladestorm added, he had just over one thousand men to call upon. The numbers were far too few. More would come, in time. A start was better than nothing. Every army needed a core of veterans, and these would do. Assuming they were malleable to his needs. Commendable loyalty was not easily broken; if these men accepted his words too readily, he feared there would be a whole other concern in the coming war.

"All men and women stand accounted for" Magnus reported, returning from the cluster of officers. "Fourteen are in physician's care. One is returning from leave."

"Thank you" Louk told the man. Magnus had impressed him so far. Smart, studious, and not given to theatrics. Holding his tongue during the council of Shields had earned him a measure of respect that Louk doubted he would pass out again among these people. Over the course of the meetings Magnus had been accused of malfeasance, dishonesty, and several other things that could have very well led to conflict. Through it all he had remained calm, professional, and refused to let the jabs get to him.

On either side of the drill square, clusters of civilians milled in the shade of the barracks arches. Nobles, officials, onlookers, nearly all the important people of Ken had come to view the source of the irregular summoning of the mercenaries to the White Citadel. Those informed of the recent events had particular interest in the man who was not a Black Dog, yet stood at the head of the mercenary ranks. He spotted the head of the Church, surrounded by simpering cardinals and priests. Guildsters and traders of wealth, inspecting him and his exotic appearance as if calculating where he might have hailed from, and how new trade routes might be achieved. Most of all, he counted the jealous eyes of noblemen, seeing in him a competitor for power or influence. While Celeste allowed many into the White Citadel, a private audience with the Goddess Reborn was rare, and word that he had achieved such a thing had apparently spread throughout the city.

Their presence complicated things, but he could not send them away. Someone would raise hell, and he would have even more nonsense wasting his time. Better to let them suffer for their curiosity, he decided.

Fecking nobles.

"Call them to attention."

"Sir." Magnus saluted stiffly, then gave the order to the herald, who blew three sharp notes. As one, the Black Dogs snapped to call, straightening their postures and adopting the stern, thousand-yard stare of a professional soldier.

"Eyes" Louk shouted, and the sea of shifting gazes settled on him. "My name is Louk Shannegh. You do not know me. I am not a Black Dog, nor am I a mercenary of any kind, nor a soldier. I am a hunter. And you will be joining me in the hunt I lead."

Confusion bloomed on many faces, mercenary and not. They did not know where he was going with this news. Content to leave them a moment for their uncertainty to weaken their resolve, to shave a sliver of defensiveness from their will, he cleared his throat and spat a wad of phlegm on the paved ground. It was rather dusty on the drill square. Not from lack of use, though. The paved stones had all worn smooth from countless hours spent marched upon in drill and practice.

"I serve the Goddess Reborn, Celeste Lucrose, as do you. Our oath is to defend the people of Eostia from any threat. Most recently, that threat took the form of the Dark Queen, Olga Discordia. Vult himself led an army into Garan to capture her, and just two days ago, I brought her to the gates of Ken itself and delivered her to your Goddess."

A smattering of applause rose from the galleries. Louk paused a moment, letting his irritation show plainly on his face at the interruption.

"In a good tale, that would be the end of it. But this is no tale. The invasion of Garan was not without cost. Vult has been lost, as have the men and women that accompanied him into the wastelands. Not a soul will return."

What had been applause vanished, replaced with horrified gasps and exclamations from the attendees. Even a ripple of murmurs spilled through the Black Dogs warriors, though those were quashed quickly by officers. A sudden whisper tugged at his thoughts, the nagging sensation that something had changed, and he glanced up in the direction of the feeling. High above them, nearly lost in the gleaming white light reflecting off the White Citadel, stood a pair of women. One pale as paper and clothed in white, the other a rich brown and clothed in black. They were watching him. Well, then. Better Celeste know his words as he spoke them.

"I wish I could tell you they were slain, and their bodies laid to rest in honor. But I can't. They are not dead, but devoured. A great evil has been unleashed in Garan. An evil long held in check by the power of the Dark Queen herself. It is a power that not only kills, but corrupts, changes, twists. It is an abomination the likes of which this world has never seen. Vult's army was swallowed whole by this evil."

Lifting his arm, he gestured to Magnus. "The Bladestorm, fellow warriors, have sealed the border in hopes of preventing any more of your brothers and sisters from losing their souls to the evil in the north. But they cannot hold the border alone. I call upon you, as warriors and defenders, to make a decision. It is not an easy one, I admit. It is one that requires faith, and belief in powers you have never encountered before. For a time, the Black Dogs have been your identity. Whether you are bloodied veterans or new recruits, the Black Dogs were what you aspired to be. They were the pinnacle of achievement, of respect. But no longer. The name of Black Dogs is going to mean something very different in the months to come, when the evil pours from Garan."

At his prearranged signal, Magnus reached up to the patch of the Kuroinu that pinned his cloak over his shoulder. Ripping the patch free, he hurled it to the ground.

"I ask you to renounce your the name Black Dogs. In faith, you will take up a new name, one that will stand as a symbol of light against the coming darkness. Many years ago, I served along a force of warriors of legend, soldiers whose prowess set the most wretched creatures to flight, and vanquished monsters and gods. They are called the Templars, and I ask you now to take this name, to fashion a new legend in its honor. War is coming to Eostia. It will be a war unlike any this land has seen before. It will be brutal, it will be horrifying. The demons of Garan are nothing compared to what is to come. I need soldiers for this war, soldiers of courage and honor, that will not bend or break when terror comes to claim them."

One of the officers stepped forward. Khoros the Axe, his dark scowl etched like marble. Knowing the man's intent, Louk fell silent, and motioned for him to speak. He knew this would have to happen at some point. Better to get it done with now, while all were present.

"You were in Garan" Khoros confirmed, his voice loud and boisterous. The voice of a man determined to lead, to rule. "But what in hell's teeth are you blabbering about? Evil? Vult and the others gone? And now you're demanding we take up arms against our own? Bah!"

"I only ask you continue your duty" Louk replied, maintaining an even voice. "I will not send you to war. That war will come here on its own. What I _ask_ is that you open your minds to the possibility of fighting a new foe, an enemy you would not expect."

"And why should we listen to you?"

Louk studied the man again, inspecting his stance, deciding how to proceed. The simplest way would be to kill him. Get it over with, then and there. How his men, and the other companies, would react remained out of his reach, however. He did not dare something so drastic without assurances. Another way could make this work.

"Because the Goddess herself tasked me with taking charge of the remaining Black Dogs in Eostia until such a time as a new commander can be secured." Which was blatantly untrue, but they wouldn't know. The rumors of his meetings with Celeste could serve him here, he knew. None would risk contradicting Celeste, and without any concrete proof of his lie they could not challenge him.

"Should you prefer a more visceral reason," Louk patted the hilt of his sword. "I am sure a demonstration can be arranged."

"Aye, that it can." Khoros lifted his axe. "I serve only those I trust, and I don't know you. Take a blade, and let's see if your mettle is worthy."

"I don't need a blade" Louk sneered. He caught a glimpse of red in the corner of his eye. Maia had snuck into the wings of the drill square. Standing slightly to the side, she remained detached from the nobles save for a portly and unsightly young man that clung to her shadow. The man was… ugly, to put it mildly, with stark yellowish-blonde hair and a porcine face and bulging belly that spoke to a life of excessive appetite. The red-haired mercenary ignored the man, choosing instead to study Louk with sullen animosity.

"So you're not just an arrogant ass, but an arrogant fighter too? I'm not putting this axe away, boy."

The intended insult brought a grim smile to Louk's mouth. He stepped forwards, drawing closer to the man. "Come on, then. Black Dogs, stand to. Observe, but do not move from your post."

"Those men aren't yours to command" Khoros growled. Charging forwards, he swept his axe in a savage blow. Louk spun into the arc of the swing, catching the shaft of the weapon between Khoros' hands, and threw his body under the man's shoulder. Heaving upwards, he hurled Khoros through the air, sending the man flying several feet, his axe wrenched free and safe in Louk's hands.

"Anyone else?" Louk tossed the man's axe to the ground in front of his command. None answered his challenge. Pointing back at the staggering Khoros, Louk drew their attention. "Khoros has right to question what I say, but I tell you this. In the days ahead, faith will serve you better than knowledge. Your service does not change. Your duty does not change. Protecting the weak, defending the innocent. That is what I call you to. So I ask you, men and women of Eostia, whom do you serve: the Black Dogs, or your Goddess?"

Deciding to take advantage of the opportunity, Louk waved his hand high, indicating the two figures standing high above the barracks. The mercenaries all glanced up, and surprise showed on many of their faces at the sight of Celeste. A few muttered oaths eased out from the ranks.

"Eisley Surefoot stand with Eostia" a sharp, chirruping voice announced. The beastkin commander produced a saxe knife with a flourish, ritualistically bringing it to touch the pommel to her forehead before extending it, hilt first. "We hunt for Goddess."

Goaded by her declaration, Yosai barked an order in a foreign tongue. His ronin drew their blades in a wave of flashing steel. Raising their blades aloft, they offered salute, and Yosai stepped out from their ranks. "We serve the Goddess Celeste Lucrose" he stated. "Long may she reign."

Tagilli's voice piped up from the rear. "Aye to that!"

Turning back to Khoros, Louk watched the man as he stomped back to pick up his axe. There was no shame in the man's eyes, though he did have the quiet anger of an unfinished feud. Perhaps he would be a problem in the future, but for now, his compliance was all Louk needed.

"Khoros?"

The man bit back a snarl, reluctantly bowing his head. "I will serve the people of Eostia."

"Good." Louk returned to stand beside Magnus, who had remained still through the whole show. "As of this moment, your identities as Black Dogs are no more. You are the Templars now. Final details will be passed down through Magnus of the Bladestorm." To this side, he continued, "dismiss them."

The herald blew the correct notes, and the mercenary officers leapt to work, summoning their corporals and setting about the task of returning their warriors to duty. Louk watched them silently, judging their worth, noting faces that beared remembering. Like the ones he had accompanied into Garan, these did not dawdle. Not a one appeared overly fond of the drill square, and all made haste to clear the barracks.

Once they had departed, he turned to greet the cluster of bodies slowly making its way over to him. Maia reached him first, her determined strides leaving the portly man struggling.

"Maia" Louk acknowledged her with a nod. "See to the men, Magnus. Meet up with me tonight, and we shall discuss how to proceed."

"Sir," Magnus replied. He bowed to them both, pointedly offering respect to Maia before turning to leave.

"So you're taking over the mercenaries now," Maia growled, staring past Louk at the retreating Magnus. The fire-hearted woman had thrown the most accusations and insults during their meetings. Evidently she felt some regret at choice words. Not towards him, of course, but at the man who had been unwittingly roped into this new game.

"If you listened, I am merely preparing them for whoever will be next."

"And if that is you?" She flashed a challenging glare, her hands dropping to her hips.

"I assure you I have no interest in commanding an army."

"And yet you seem so keen on dragging us into some gods' forsaken war."

His reply held off as the chubby nobleman caught up. Gasping for breath after even as short a walk as halfway across the drill square, the blond man panted fitfully, grasping at his side as he looked them both over. "Really, Maia, you could have waited for me. You must be Louk Shannegh. I have heard of your arrival. Michelle Pantielle, son of Michael Pantielle. Surely you've heard of my family. We are quite well known through the seven regions."

"I'm new here" he stated.

"Ah, well, you appear to have met my lovely Maia." Michelle went to put a hand on Maia's arm. She casually sidestepped the gesture, a hint of disgust crossing her face. Maybe Louk wasn't the only reason she had such a sour face, then.

"We are well acquainted. Maia and I have been in close discussion with Lady Celeste and the other Shields."

"So it is true, that you have become a confidant of the Goddess herself." The nobleman's surprise wrinkled his face like a rotten fruit.

"He has found his way to her ear" Maia admitted grudgingly.

"Well, then she shall have good counsel I would wager while you are away, my dear."

Maia's eye twitched. Louk suppressed a chuckle; seeing the mercenary as the object of such a man's affection certainly explained some of the attitude. But this news of her leaving… that was not so good. He needed as many of the Shields here as possible. Consensus and agreement was needed. If the leadership fractured, they had no chance.

"Going off, then?"

"I thought to go inspect the border myself, and then see to Rad. It is a fairly lawless place to begin with, and my being away so long will not have improved things."

"You should at least stay through the council" Louk cautioned. "There is still much to be done."

"And you have made it abundantly clear that my presence is unnecessary" Maia hissed, an icy tone in her voice. "I am sure that you will not miss my being there."

He held up his hand, placing it between Maia and Michelle. "If you don't mind, sir, I need a moment with Maia."

Keeping ahead of his hand, Maia walked quickly away from the noble. Louk followed, his hand hovering protectively, ignoring the startled sputtering of the blond man as he tried to understand how quickly they had separated from the conversation.

"Your lover, then?"

"Shut up" Maia snapped. "The godsdamned leech won't leave me alone when I'm in Ken."

"How'd that happen?" His question was one out of genuine curiosity, though he had an idea. Weak men often idolized women in power, imagining a fantasy of domination and control. To a slob like Michelle Pantielle, Maia fit the bill to a t. Or a tit, he mused, allowing a flicker of a glance over her sizeable chest.

"Oh, he saw me at one of the galas that Celeste made me go to. It was held in my honor, on being made a Shield. I wanted nothing to do with it, of course. But it was tradition, and so I endured hours and hours of being ogled by noblemen and having to suffer through little shits like Michelle."

"You should not ride to Rad. Not yet. Give it a day."

"I would rather not" she said with a scowl. The rising anger in her tone warned him that this was not a fight he would win. Not in this setting. He shrugged, accepting the answer, knowing that he had a limited window to change her mind.

"Then ride well, if you must."

"Is that the sort of goodbye you have on your home?"

"I'm not used to horses" he admitted. She scoffed and took a step to the side, putting distance between them.

"That may be the first thing you've said that I believe" she grumbled. "I'll take my leave. You have someone who wants your attention."

He trailed her indicated path and spotted a tall and broad-shouldered man waiting at a respectful distance away, his hand resting on the pommel of a broadsword sheathed at his side. Though not in full armor, he wore ceremonial mail under a decorated hauberk bearing his family coat of arms, a symbol he had seen on Claudia's armor. The top of his head shone against the sunlight, surrounded by thinning white hair and a bushy beard. His eyes remained sharp, however, and the well-kept muscles under his clothes spoke of a lifetime of fighting.

"Grave Levantine" he guessed, greeting the man.

"And you are Louk Shannegh. My daughter has spoken often of you in the past days." Striding forward, Grave Levantine extended a hand. Louk shook it firmly, testing the man's grip and finding it acceptably strong but not challenging.

"I doubt anything good."

"Bah, her heart is in the right place. She's fiercer than a rabid hound when roused, but her loyalty is fiercer still. There isn't a man or woman in Eostia that she hasn't thought of as a threat to the Goddess. Give her some time; she'll warm up to you."

"We shall see." Louk did not hold the man's belief, but he allowed it.

"Vult's gone, then. Claudia told me, in confidence. Though I should hear it from the source. What took him?"

"A monster," Louk claimed. It wasn't technically untrue. "A being that smothers the mind and bends wills to service."

"That's a shame." Grave sighed and ran a bare hand over his skull. "He was a good man. I'd half a mind to try and adopt him into my family. Once Klaus goes, of course."

"What would Klaus have to do with it?"

"Until he puts a baby in Claudia's belly, everything." Grave maintained a stoic expression for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Perhaps that is in poor taste. Forgive an old man his sense of humor."

"Nothing to forgive" Louk assured him. "Your family is not my concern. My only care is the safety of Eostia."

"Yes. The Goddess has summoned a great many leaders to council today. I shall see you there, then. And hear all about this upcoming war you have warned of."

"That you shall" Louk agreed.

 **-v-**

The skies were so much clearer here. Endless blue so rich and pure it could not help but set the mind at ease. Soft clouds of purest white hung like blankets over vast stretches of the fertile plains, offering respite from the bright sun. Even the heat struck her as different. The sun gave warmth and comfort where it touched, so unlike the blistering heat in her homeland. Everything about this land showed life and vivacity that the wastelands would never again attain.

Of course, it would not always be so. The winter would come, and snow would fall thick on the plains. She remembered the snow; as a child she had found delight in it. An escape from the wretchedness of her previous existence, snow distracted her mind from the horrors of slavery and gave her something to look for every year. She had suffered months of pain and torment, living only for the blissful fall of snow to pretend that her dishonor could be taken away. The cleanliness of the snow, to her, symbolized a peace the she would not know.

She missed the snow. By her estimate, it would come soon. When it did, perhaps she would could steal a few days from here, with Olga's permission. The mountains to the east were something she had always had a fancy for. Those were good mountains, free of danger or banditry. It would be nice to take some time and explore them on her own.

For now, she enjoyed the peace and tranquility. It would not last. The new war approached ever nearer, and she knew in her heart that though she belonged by Olga's side, her mettle would be tested in true combat again. The beast _Virtuoso_ had possessed incredible speed and strength in an orc's form. Now in the guise of Vult, the most proficient swordsman in the land, it would be so much more dangerous. She knew that in a straight fight, her abilities lacked. Training was required. The strange Reaper man had the knowledge to teach her. If it came to it, she could seek his aid.

The thought of putting her knives in the daemon-Vult's heart set her palms tingling. It would be her blade that ended him. The creature that dared to harm her mistress, sought to violate them both and heap its filth on their souls. It would die slowly, she vowed. Slowly and in as great a pain as it could know. This was right, and as if deserved. Her blades would be the vengeance of Olga's fury.

Oh, how she looked forward to the day she stood prepared before the daemon.

"I will kill you" she breathed, staring off into the distant northern mountains. Her perch on the balcony offered her a grand view of the mountains. Such magnificent features made it easy to forget what horrors lurked beyond.

"Such hateful words from such a beautiful creature."

Every muscle in her body tensed at the sudden voice, limbs snapping taut, jaw clenching so quickly she bit the side of her tongue. A shock set her nerves on fire, numbing the sensation for a long second, so violent and powerful that she lost feeling of her fingers and toes. A muted gasp spilled loose from her throat, trapped by her teeth, making no more sound than a mouse buried under a sheet.

The numbing faded almost instantly, replaced by a crushing wave of fear and dread.

"My little Chloe" the voice continued. His shadow rose to her left. Hot breath tickled the back of her neck. Terror froze her limbs in place, and she stood utterly silent save for the rapid thundering of her heart in her chest. "I never thought I would see you again."

Sir John Mandeville placed a wrinkled hand on her shoulder. His reedy fingers landed with the weight of a swung hammer. The front of his jacket brushed against her bare back. His closeness was a suffocating weight. It muffled the warming sun, washing the light in shadow.

She had forgotten how terrifying he had been.

"I had thought to never see you again" he murmured. The breath from his nostrils spilled over her ear. She flinched, daring to try and pull away, but her legs refused to move. Her strength fled, leaving her helpless. "My little darling. You were stolen from me. But fate has brought us back together."

"I… am not… yours" she whimpered, straining to form words. Her stomach crawled as his finger deliberately eased her half-cloak to the side. Biting her tongue to suppress the terrified noises building in her lungs, she gripped the hilts of her daggers until her knuckles whitened. It only took a sliver of effort to draw them. He was this close. She could kill him. She could-

"You have always been mine" his voice cooed, condescending and so certain. His drifting hand slipped down her back, fingers pressing teasingly against her flesh. "Don't you remember? I raised you. I paid for your food, your clothes, your life. I made you as comfortable and loved as a slave ever was."

"... not your toy" she hissed.

"A toy?" His feigned gasp of horror mocked her words. Took them and threw them in the mud, grinding them under his heel. "You were never a toy, Chloe."

"You raped me" she snarled.

"Did I?" A touch of anger bled into his tone. That anger, that terrifying temper, made her soul shrink, her courage shrivelling before her very eyes. "You never complained. Never asked me to stop. As I recall, you positively begged for my cock. Night after night, crawling on all fours to my bedchambers. Did I not please you? Did I not bring you pleasure every day and night?"

His reaching hand snapped up, nail digging cruelly into the back of her neck. She started, pulling away from his touch, but she could not bring herself to leap away. Dragging her up until her toes supported her weight, he held her there, the icy cold of his rage bubbling to the surface of his voice.

"You faithless slut. I cared for you straight from your whore mother's womb! You owe me everything."

"I escaped" she murmured.

"You will never escape me." His other hand came around, wrapping against her thigh, digging sharply into her soft flesh. She frantically pushed at his hand, trying to pry his grasp away. Her resistance stopped when he shook her roughly, fingers pressing dangerously against her throat. Digging under her clothes, he probed and prodded until his questing fingers found her most sacred place. "I own you. I own your body. I own your soul. That bitch took you from me, and I will have you back."

"No!"

"What's this" he asked. His composure reasserted itself, though his grip did not ease. Using his hand on her neck as a prod, he walked her further into the balcony, pushing her along until her hips pressed against the railing. All the while, his fingers continued to dig below. "Are you wet? Does my touch excite you?"

Tears spilled freely down her cheeks. Heat bloomed in her belly, a twisted and sick sensation that slid down her insides and emerged in a hot rush down her legs.

"Did you just piss yourself?" His throaty chuckle only added to her humiliation. She wanted to die.

"Let me go" she demanded, her voice weak and halting.

"I will never let you go, Chloe. You will return to my side. Whether I force you or you come to your senses remains to be seen. Though I must warn you, the longer your make me wait, the stronger your apology will have to be. For I am merciful," he whispered as he brought his hand up and pressed his fingers against her lips. "Do you remember how you pleaded for my cock? How I filled you _again_ and _again_. I have never possessed a slave quite like you, Chloe. You will be restored. That is a promise."

He pulled back suddenly, releasing her from his grasp. Falling against the railing, Chloe let out a groan, her legs buckling from weakness. The source of his retreat made itself apparent in the heavy clacking of armored boots on the marble floor of the inner walkway. Hiding her face lest the newcomer see it, Chloe hastily shrugged her half-cloak over her back and hid behind the comforting fabric. The sickness in her stomach threatened to spew. The warming comfort of sunlight beat down on her mercilessly. The height of the balcony filled her with an uneasy dizziness. Like the whole world had been in reach, yet now crumbled in around her.

"Sir Mandeville" the newcomer greeted. Claudia Levantine appeared at the entrance to the balcony, clad in ceremonial warplate. "Chloe. I would not have expected to find you here."

"Madam Levantine" he greeted, his voice cool and collected. Any trace of the previous conversation vanished behind his silken facade. That same heart-filled smile and disarming cheer that had lured Chloe into her mistaken sense of security as a youth. The day she turned fourteen, Sir John had come to her chambers and taken her innocence by force. Ever since, that smile had never fooled her to the demon that raged beneath his civilized mask.

"The Goddess had announced the hour of council. Please present yourself at the grand conclave by supper. We shall eat as we discuss the future."

"I relish the honor of basking in her wisdom" Sir John promised.

"And you, Chloe." A touch of curiosity edged the knight's tone. "Will you attend your mistress?"

"I am afraid Chloe is suffering from a poor meal" Sir John interjected. "She will be in attendance."

"I see." The steadiness in her response promised Chloe that the Lady Levantine did not quite believe the man's words. "Sir Mandeville, would you accompany me? I have several questions regarding your merchant business in Geof, and how it may be affected by recent events."

"Certainly" the man agreed. "I look forward to seeing you again, Chloe."

The two humans left the balcony together. Once the sound of Claudia's footfalls receded, Chloe slid to her knees. Pressing her head against the railing, she clutched her cloak tight around her body and wept.

 **-v-**

Celeste had aged. It was a subtle thing. Elves did not pass time like the lesser races. They did not lose the coloring of their hair, or gain wrinkles or sag like the humans. Outside of the elves themselves, few could accurately tell the age of an elf. Olga had once prided herself on being able to guess any elf's age to within two years, which was a feat many elves themselves lacked. In that regard, elves were so much different than the lesser races. Immortality brought its own problems, its own strengths and weaknesses.

A hundred years of leading Eostia against the demons had withered Celeste's spirit. The high elf's precious heart mourned the loss of every death, and elves had long memories. Unlike the humans, whose thoughts faded in years, if not days, an elf remembered every waking moment of life until they died. Each soldier slain by the demons. Each woman violated and butchered. The heroes that had fallen to monsters. It was an inherent aspect of elfkind that had adapted to take the pain and suffering of immortality and hold it under lock and key. The fury of an elf, when raised, was a terrible thing. So terrible that even the elves feared what lurked in the darkest recesses of their souls. The heart of Celeste, the Goddess Reborn, sainted leader of Eostia and ruler of the lands, was no doubt a broken, tortured agony.

And still she smiled. The woman who watched for a hundred years as her people were preyed upon, slaughtered, hunted for sport. She smiled at Olga with those pleading eyes that begged for Olga to show the old cheer and humor of their youth. Hope lived in those wonderfully calm eyes. The unquenchable hope Celeste had always possessed; hope in the goodness of the soul. Olga had loved her for it, upon a time. As youths, the two had made the most wonderful pair. Olga's brash and excitable nature complemented by Celeste's coy and mischievous persona.

She despised that innocence now. And it broke her heart to see that Celeste had never doubted her.

The Goddess poured a half glass of honeyed wine, gaze settling on the third person at the table. They had retired from the council chambers. This meeting did not require a large audience or waiting servants. Celeste invited only Olga and one other. The mysterious youth Kaguya. In truth, Olga knew little of the youngest Shield. Though barely out of childhood, the woman radiated a serenity and wisdom far beyond her years. Her features were almost elfin. Odds stood in favor that Kaguya had an elven ancestor within two generations. Yet that did not explain the strength of presence she carried, nor the solemnity with which she composed herself during the heated debates of the previous days.

Her appearance at this small council was not without reason. Olga wondered if she would see it before it was made known to her.

"Thank you for remaining in Ken" Celeste opened, bowing her head in respect. "I know your duties suffer from distance to your shrine."

"The Heavens have called me to your side" Kaguya replied, her voice light and hypnotic. She had an adorable little face, youth having not fled her despite the sure onset of human puberty. "I am but a servant of my God."

"And we are grateful for his lending." The high elf's smile warmed, and she took a careful sip of her wine. "Have you met Olga yet?"

"I apologize, but we have not formally introduced ourselves." Kaguya rose from her chair and curtsied. Her posture was fluid, graceful. "I am Kaguya, high priestess of my God."

"Does your God have a name?"

"His name is known to the faithful." The shrine maiden's button nose wrinkled. "You do not strike me as a believer."

"In your God?"

"In anything. You hide your scars in disbelief, Lady Olga."

The bluntness of the young woman's words shocked Olga. She stared unblinking at the shrine maiden, deciding whether or not the woman had meant insult.

"Kaguya is blessed" Celeste explained smoothly. "Her faith gives her sight beyond our mortal senses. She does not mean offense."

"I understand." Letting her gaze slide, Olga took the offered wine jug from Celeste and poured her own serving.

"Kaguya came to me in confidence this morning" Celeste explained. "She believes your words, and would voice such to the others."

"Does she now?" Olga did not let the announcement impress her. It did not matter to her if they believed the warning Louk Shannegh had brought. Olga knew the truth, and even if she stood alone, she would fight the evil gathering in Garan. Regardless of their beliefs, time would convince them.

"I sense the evil that has arisen in Garan. It coincides with your return, with the words of Master Shannegh. The creature in the wastelands is a thing our world has never seen before. You know what it is. Its mark is left upon you."

Her ear twitched, the memory of its tongue still hot in her mind. A memory she could never forget. A thousand years could pass, but its touch would never fade into oblivion. She owed the creature a painful death for its arrogance, its violation.

"It is a monster" she stated, curling her fingers around her wine glass.

"And it must be repulsed. My God has revealed to me the danger it poses. For the sake of every innocent in Eostia, we must band together and face it as one."

"Do you know what it is?" Olga asked the question even though she knew the answer. If this young shrine maiden has an inkling of the true power is possessed, she would have begged Celeste to force the other to comply.

"I admit I am unable to understand what nature of a creature it is. My faith tells me it must be stopped."

"Its name is _Virtuoso_. It is a true daemon, a creature from another realm. Louk Shannegh chased it here, seeking to kill it."

"What is it?" Kaguya asked.

"Even I cannot understand" Olga admitted. "Louk Shannegh can answer that question at length. I have been told he is an adept hunter of such creatures. Where he comes from there is an organization whose sole purpose is to hunt such creatures down and destroy them."

"It is good to have a man who knows the creature." Kaguya frowned. "I cannot fathom the evil it contains. Its presence poisons the mind. And it is growing in power with each passing day."

"I had thought to broach topic of another invasion force" Celeste announced. "But the majority of our forces are already in Garan. If they are all gone, then we have barely enough forces to hold our borders. I committed Vult's army to this task, to bring you in." Sadness passed over her features, a deep and breaking sorrow that only hinted at the torment she must feel knowing her decision had cost the lives of so many men and women. "I only wanted to bring you home."

"This is not my home" Olga countered, reflexively denying the claim. Hurt flickered in Celeste's eyes, smothered quickly by the high elf's composure. "Nor was it your fault what happened to those men. _Virtuoso_ is a thing of another world. None could have expected its arrival and the power it wields."

"I fear we will not be able to stand against it."

To admit such a thing before the grand council would have shattered any hope they could have had to repel the daemon. Olga suppressed the urge to wince. It spoke volumes of Celeste's trust in the two of them to voice such worry. Why did Celeste still trust her? She did not understand. Olga had led the Demon Legion for so long, been responsible for the deaths of so many friends.

Hatred, Olga realized. She wished that Celeste held nothing for her but hatred. It would be easier to hold her gaze if there were disdain or anger or mistrust. The innocence of Celeste's youth had never wilted, and held against it Olga could only look back on what she had become. The depths of darkness she had plumbed to keep the demons at bay. The blood on her hands, seeped deep into her soul.

Celeste truly was a goddess.

It humbled her to be in this woman's confidence.

"We will stand" Olga assured them both. "The Black Dogs are a formidable fighting force, it is true. They were not the only fighting force. Do you know why I sent the Legion into Ansur and Rad and Geof so many times?"

Though the two had discussed her actions much in the past days, in private confidence, Kaguya knew nothing of Olga's grand work. The shrine maiden's shoulders stiffened at the casual mention of sending the demon invasions. As it should. Olga had never expected any south of the wastelands to sympathize with her cause.

"I controlled the large concentrations of demons through force of will and sorcery" Olga explained. "The lesser bands were not worth my attention. They would have overtaxed my power and risked losing all of them. I held the demons at bay as long as their simple instincts allowed. And when those instincts grew too powerful to control, I loosed them exactly where I knew they could be handled. Where the forces of Eostia could tear them to pieces and butcher them like the animals they were. It was not solely the Black Dogs who claimed those victories. But the knights of Geof, the halfling armies of Ansur, and the small mercenaries of Rad. I did my best to keep the Legion from assaulting the weaker states."

"You speak as if you should be commended." Kaguya's flat tone indicated her displeasure.

"I undertook a task that I alone could accomplish." Celeste's taste in wine had not changed, Olga mused. Sweet and light, spring wines. A reflection of her unending optimism, perhaps? This particular vintage carried the hint of plum, just enough to pique Olga's taste buds. Celeste had always loved the wine from Olga's homeland to the north. Had this been an intentional ploy, she had to ask herself. A simple maneuver to put Olga more at ease, or to ingratiate her back to Celeste's side. No, Celeste did not possess the base cunning required for such an act. The very thought of imagining the high elf stooping to subterfuge set a sour taste in Olga's mouth. She set the glass down, hiding her grimace, and allowed a long breath before continuing.

"Do not look to the past for answers to the future, Kaguya. Not in this instance. I protected my people, as I strove to protect yours. What matters now is the evil ahead. Having stood in its presence, I would advise you set any lingering malcontent aside."

"And what does Master Shannegh advise" the shrine maiden asked.

Olga did not miss the Goddess' faint shiver at the mention of his name.

"Louk is currently gathering the remaining Black Dogs, at my behest. He has yet to tell me his plan, but I am certain he will have a way forwards for us."

"Is it wise to place too much faith in such a strange man" Kaguya insisted. "I do not doubt his intentions. However, experience does not equate to capabilities. What assurance do we have that he can lead us to victory?"

"I think Celeste would let Louk Shannegh lead her anywhere" Olga whispered, into her glass. The high elf's cheeks flushed red, her elfin hearing detecting the jab.

"Louk… I trust his wisdom" Celeste answered, her breath suddenly shaky as she fought to smooth her embarrassment. "He is rough, but that does not mean he is incapable of leading."

"And that, my dear Celeste, does not answer her question." Olga set her glass down, drained to the last drop. It was truly an excellent wine. "Kaguya, I have seen Louk Shannegh in battle. He fights with the strength and speed of a dozen men. When we fled across the wastes to escape the Black Dogs, he refused to lose focus, and when time came for battle he reacted swiftly and with intelligence. I placed my life in his hands, and would gladly do so again. If you require further example of his leadership, speak with the mercenaries that escorted us here. Magnus is quite fond of him already, and subjected his men to Louk Shannegh's command without hesitation. A competent military commander vouches for his abilities. I believe such is the only opinion that matters."

"We need a soldier" Celeste added. "Vult was the premier commander of Eostia, with Claudia comparable yet lacking his numbers. I have faith in Claudia's ability. Louk's experience makes him the more certain choice."

"I see." The shrine maiden bowed her head solemnly. "I have no argument with your decision. My God has only allowed a glimpse of what is to come. We walk by faith into this uncertain future. I will pray we are guided on the correct path."


	13. Covenant Reforged

**A/N: SURPRISE! This has a quick turaround because this chapter was supposed to be the second half of the last chapter, but I assumed nobody wanted to sit through a 16k word slog. So I broke it up.**

Reviewers-  
SomeGuyOverHere-

This is not going to be a happy story. There's some real nasty shenanigans that are going to go down before it all ends. As for Sir John, I can assure you that there will always be vengeance, if not justice. No matter what happens, the Reaper will come. There is probably going to be some prejudice against beastmen and such, but not nearly to the level of Warhammer. Just your average run-of-the-mill racism.  
 **ManwithaPlan113-** Sir John is certainly a prime candidate.  
 **Rylomakin81-** The Black Dogs make so much more sense as a real military force. Also, I've been binge-watching a lot of historical shows on Netflix the past bit, especially the Chinese ones like King's War and all that. Endless hours of crazy awesome Chinese combat, generals, etc... has given me some fun ideas for the Black Dogs.  
 **Anderel Tyrant-** White Knight Fantasy is fun sometimes, but not all the time. Louk Shannegh is not a white knight in the slightest. He's a true-blooded "lawful netural" Imperial. Sometimes you have to do horrible things for the good of mankind. And he's okay with that. Well, not really okay. But he deals with it. I've always wondered how stuff ends up on the TV tropes site. I certainly wouldn't toot my own horn and insert it, but somebody fanart'd my 40k story on the other account, so one can always dream. And yes, _Virtuoso_ is an equal-opportunity daemon. Everybody can rape everybody!  
 **Guest-** Well, _true_ killing is a unique occurrence. Daemons are banished all the time, obviously some are harder than others. But there are very, very, _very_ few instances when a daemon can be actually, literally killed. Even the God-Emperor could only kill Horus completely because he wasn't full daemon yet.  
 **Danteinfernus-** To be fair to the Shields, I would assume Sir John is very good at hiding him being a depraved soul. It isn't that hard, in the old days, when you've got power. And yes, Kaguya is now locked in as an important character. She won't fade into nothing. As for Maia's fate, you will have to wait and see.  
 **FrancisVamp0822-** Chloe's in for some hard times, that's for sure. And Kaguya, after some soul searching, I decided has a bit of a unique outlook on things. Her faith in her 'God' will give her insight and senses that the mortal people won't have.

Have fun!

* * *

 **Pass of Four Hundred Sorrows, Border of Ken and Garan**

George nocked his first arrow. The creaking groan of a hundred similar bows being drawn rippled across the wall in a pleasant hum. Behind the line of archers, foot soldiers waited, gripping their swords and spears with anticipation. A phalanx of warriors stood in ranks in the square below, waiting for orders. Further along the line, slipping between the men like a brightly-garbed specter, Diane and her retinue handed out precious bombs to chosen warriors. The four towers of the border fort held her elite fusiliers, men and women armed with the strange firearms that Luu-Luu the halfling had touted in Ansur. Strange weapons, George still did not feel comfortable around them, even though they had more than proved their effectiveness.

Confidence warmed his muscles. Four hundred warriors ready to repel the enemy, waiting for the host to break upon the wall. Trained by the best commanders in Eostia, hardened by constant conflict against the demons, their men had won many victories in harder circumstances. Weariness pulled at their limbs, yet they stood unbowed. For three days now, the forces of the demons had thrown themselves at the walls of the fort. Almost without respite, the garrison hurled them back time and time again. The broken bodies of so many creatures lay piled at the foot of the wall, their bloated bodies filling the air with rancid fumes. Several days of demon corpses rotting in the sun made for a bad air. Diane had promised to make a solution, but the constant battle had rendered them all too busy to get other work done.

The smell hardly bothered him. He had suffered far worse. What truly upset him, filled him with dread, were the shattered frames of fallen ladders. Before the strange encounter with the man Louk Shannegh and Olga Discordia on the way to the border, he had never heard of, much less seen, demons using advanced tactics of any kind. The ladders had caught them all off guard. In the first encounter, the wall had nearly fallen; rare were the demons that had wings or any manner of gaining walls. The oft-repeated demon method of siege warfare involved charging the walls with ogres and trolls in attempt to smash the gates or carve a break in the walls. As such, the Black Dogs posted few foot soldiers on the walls, and when the first ladders had sprouted from the throng, the day was nearly lost. Only a frantic but directed maneuver by Marc had swept the wall of the demons and seen to the defenses.

Now, though, they knew how to handle it. The Bladestorm had practiced siege warfare alongside the Ansur warriors many times as advisors, trainers, and combatants. The strange Luu-Luu had a peculiar fascination with siege combat. Her crazy mind birthed the most bizarre creations of war, such as the 'Turtle Tower,' an armored multi-storied construct mounted on massive wheels. It could be pushed straight against a city's wall, and ladders along the backside allowed soldiers to clamber up it in safety and leap down onto the enemy battlements. In defending against ladders, the simplest ideas often proved the most effective. Kill the ladder carriers first. Have spears on hand to push the ladders over.

The demons crossed into range. By his estimate, nearly one thousand of the beasts had assembled. Their numbers remained constant. No matter how many fell, more remained.

"Loose" he ordered, lifting his voice. His aim was true, and the orc he had singled out stumbled to its knees. Lost quickly in the mob, he could not confirm its death, but the truth of it hardly mattered. There were far more waiting to be slain. Drawing another arrow, he quickly took aim. "At will! Cut them down!"

Arrow fire peppered the demon ranks, killing many. The crackle of firearms heralded the snipers of the fusiliers. Their musket balls smacked into the thick hide of an ogre, making its flesh ripple and dance like rain on a pond surface. Thick gouts of blood sprayed out of its wounds, and a well-aimed shot took the beast's eye. Staggering backwards, its momentum halted suddenly, the ogre tripped and fell in a flailing tumble of limbs.

"That's how we do it" Diane crowed, her sharp voice splitting the thrumming of bows and the thunder of the guns. She joined George, her carbine drawn. "How goes the war, _petit frère_?"

"Same as it always does" he grunted. His eyes narrowed at the sight of a ladder in the midst of the horde. "Archers, right of the gate."

As directed, the nearby archers switched targets. A flurry of arrows pelted the cluster, but more hurried over to pick up the ladder when the bearers fell. Diane tsked under her breath at the sight.

"I don't like smart demons" she stated. "They almost make this a fair fight."

Reaching to one of the bombs on her belt, she slid her carbine into its holster and pulled flint. George stepped away, eyeing the bomb nervously. But the blonde woman struck her flint to the fuse with a smile.

"This should take care of that problem."

He tracked the path of the bomb, its small form disappearing almost instantly in the mass of bodies. Mere seconds later, the ground burst like a lightning strike; the shockwave flattened dozens of demons, their bodies flayed and broken by the explosion. Shards of the ladder sliced into the rest. Too little of it remained to scale the walls.

"You never were one for a fair fight" George breathed.

"What's the point of fighting if you could lose?" She battered her eyes coyly. Then, turning on her heel, she strode off towards the gatehouse tower. Barking out orders to her lieutenant in a very different, drill-like tone, she set about arranging her men. The stark contrast in her attitude made him smirk. Diane had a heart of gold, both in kindness and in lust for money. When it came time for battle, she was as vicious as a viper.

Despite the fire of the defenders, the demons reached the wall. While their numbers showed no sign of dwindling day after day, wood for ladders was not nearly as replaceable. He counted eight, including the one Diane's bomb had destroyed. Too many for comfort, but not enough to worry him.

"Archers to the towers" he barked. His men pulled off the front of the wall, retreating in good order towards their assigned positions. The foot soldiers replaced them, stepping forwards to hold the wall. Once the ladders were raised, the worst part of the battle would begin. Demon ladders were large and sturdy, heavy enough to support the largest orc. Pushing them off the wall took concentrated time and effort. It was the job of the archers now to clear the ladders so the foot soldiers could hurl them off the wall.

One such ladder rose up, slamming into place a dozen paces from his position. George felt the impact in his bones. Thick iron grapnels slammed down into place, clinging to the battlements to hold the ladder. Immediately, Marc's soldiers started hacking and pulling at the grapnels. George gave the wall a last look, then turned and hurried to the nearest tower. He could hear Marc's bellowing orders bellow, sending men to brace the gate or form reserve detachments for the wall. He knew it in his bones. This one would be bloody.

 **-v-**

 **White Citadel, Ken**

A panoply of banners hung from the inner keep of the White Citadel. At the Goddess Reborn's command, every important person of Eostia had been summoned to discuss the state of affairs in their world. Nearly every one of them had heeded the call; those that had not sent suitable replacements or messages of excusal. The failure to show meant little, in truth. Many of those summoned would only be privy to the most obvious knowledge. Only the select few would have her private counsel. That did not matter to them anyways. Any summons by the Goddess Reborn equated to honor and regard. Those that did not make appearance would be noted, if only by the others who had come.

Nobles, merchants, generals, and clergy arrived with their retinues, filling the considerable accommodations of the White Citadel and spilling into the taverns and wealthy houses beyond. The lower levels of the Citadel became cramped with servants hurrying to accommodate the many guests, or clusters of conversation spilling all throughout the walkways and courtyards. Clergy met and discussed their flocks. Nobles regaled each other with accomplishments, eligible children, and rumors. Merchants bartered for favors or contracts. The White Citadel was alive with voices and motion, like an anthill filled with pompous asses.

He disliked merchants.

He hated nobles.

He despised clergy.

And now he stood impatiently in Celeste's Grand Convocation. One whole floor of the White Citadel stood a large, open room, with tables and space for two hundred attendants. In the past it rarely saw use other than for grand banquets, and those held infrequently and only at times of greatest celebration. Today, though drink flowed freely from servants' bottles and succulent food presented itself on rolling carts, celebration was not the purpose of the day. Though all present spied the quiet and demure form of the Dark Queen, recently captured and brought back from Garan by Vult and his Black Dogs army, the air did not hold joy or mirth. A wary tension hung over the assembly. Muted conversations carried by table, but few raised their voices. All eagerly awaited the words of the Goddess Reborn, the reason for the summons.

Celeste had politely requested Louk dress accordingly for the Grand Convocation. Reluctant to abandon his usual garb, he argued for a compromise. Instead of ditching his entire outfit for something more recognizable as Eostian, he left his heavy coat behind and replaced his shirt with a clean and pressed royal blue jacket. His pants remained, as did his boots. He could do without the coat. Its main purpose was protection and comfort. Neither of those would be needed tonight. His sword remained at his side, sheathed in its well-polished scabbard, and his laspistol hung on his opposite hip, its holster oiled to a shine. None of them knew what it was, of course. Olga had ventured a question about it once, but that had been in the wastes. He doubted she could even remember having asked such a thing. The Dark Queen had suffered stoically through that ordeal, but she had suffered the worst out of the three.

His place of honor at Celeste's own table drew more eyes than his decision to keep his weapons. The rumors by now had fully saturated the attendees. Some of them he had heard; most he cared little for. That he was a charlatan who had wormed his way to Celeste's side with prophecies of doom. Or that the strange Reaper man had carved his way to the Dark Queen's fortress single-handedly and dragged her back to Ken. Someone had started the rumor that he was a reincarnation of a long-dead hero, a man sent from the fallen ancestors to guide Celeste in troubled times. Each rumor grew more wild with time. They were all superstitious idiocy.

To his right, Olga Discordia sipped her wine and delicately ate the meal on her plate. The Dark Queen wore her usual garb, or what he assumed now to be her usual. Knowing that she could replace it at will, he had to wonder if she changed her clothes daily, or even bothered cleaning them when they were dirty. It was entirely possible she simply created her wardrobe every day. The thought amused him. After all, she had brought nothing to Ken, yet seemed to have no trouble finding clothes that fit her just right. Scandalously well, he thought, letting his gaze wander for a moment down the smooth curve of her throat.

"If you are so hungry for my plate, you need only ask" she whispered, shooting her eyes over in his direction.

"Just looking for something to do" he replied, forcing himself to look past the dark elf.

Celeste had placed Olga at her immediate left, a position of honor that had not gone unnoticed by those present. But none drew more eyes than the Goddess Reborn herself. Celeste, in her humble white robes, unadorned save for the gold leaf tiara holding back her hair, watched over the crowd with her serene gaze, missing little, and offering subtle smiles as she caught eyes. She held the crowd's attention well, even in her stillness, though Louk knew the woman's shining beauty had its own irresistible charm.

"One would think you are unaccustomed to such gatherings."

"Far more accustomed than I would care." He straightened his spine, making sure to sit upright with proper posture. "This is the part of waging war that I could easily do without."

"Ah, but there are so many beautiful women here to admire. Surely that eases you mood."

Louk took long cut of calf steak and chewed slowly, pondering how to reply. The dark elf's expression gave no hint as to whether she was baiting or teasing. It could have been either, or neither. Or both.

"Is that what sets you at ease? Eyeing all the strong men?"

"Why shop for bobbles when you have a diamond at home?" Her eyebrow rose suggestively, clearly teasing. He huffed and allowed a half-smile.

"I'd much rather be out on the field. A messenger from the border fort arrived this morning. They have been under constant attack for days now. Magnus sent two companies of Templars to the border fort alongside Maia, but I need to see what the situation is for myself. Instead I am sitting here watching all these arrogant pricks vie for favor."

"Those _arrogant pricks_ ," she began, chuckling huskily, "have the resources to build your army."

"Which is the only reason I am here."

"Does my guardianship mean so little to you?"

"I think you are more than capable of fending off these kinds of foes." He tipped his head in acknowledgement. "You may be out of practice, but i would scarcely call you unarmed in courtly ways."

"You flatter me" she said.

"You held power over a legion of monsters for one hundred years. Flattery assumes false praise. I don't think it is possible to find false tongue in praise of you."

"Is that so?" Olga gestured with her left hand, summoning a waiting servant to fill her glass.

A twitch on the high elf's face alerted Louk that their discussion was not without listeners. He wisely held back from saying anything else. The high elf's attentions had grown the past few days. There was a tension between them, Celeste and himself; not one born out of distrust or uncertainty. The high elf had an… intensity when she gazed at him, when she considered his advice or listened to his thoughts. Their Goddess had not admitted it yet, not vocally, but he knew something had occurred during the attack on Garan. Something that had disturbed her greatly, and she looked to him to, what? Fix it? Complete it? Until she told him, he was operating in the dark.

On his other side, Chloe picked at her food in silence. The hot-headed half-elf had been unusually reserved so far. Her eyes remained fixed on her plate, ignoring conversation save for simple answers and curt nods. The sudden change had struck him as obviously as an Ogryn barging into a room of bathing Sororitas. Her demeanor resembled a caged animal. Something had shaken clearly shaken her. Now was not the time to discover what.

Letting his attention sweep the room again, he picked out familiar faces. Less than a dozen he knew by name. Grave Levantine, sitting at the head of a table reserved for Geof nobility. The Pantielle family holding most a table to themselves. Michael Pantielle, the patriarch, had quite the libido, he mused, judging by the half-dozen young men bearing his resemblance. For all Louk knew, the same amount of daughters would be at home in Ur. The man had brought even his youngest, or so Louk had been told. A spry lad who couldn't have yet reached manhood. Further along the tables, nestled in a cordon of high collars and fancy robes, sat the head of the Reborn Church. Grishom, the High Cardinal, spiritual leader to the masses, and self-righteous ass if his gold-twined robes held any truth. The man's face was sharp and intelligent, cruel even. That was the man who led the faith of these people. He would be a problem. Louk could smell the witch-hunt spilling off the man's imperious sneer.

Grishom had cast his gaze on both Louk and Olga many times so far. Olga he regarded with outright disgust, derision, and hatred. Acceptable, and even understandable, given the circumstances. Yet the darkness in the man's eyes spoke of something far beyond righteous anger. There was a depravity in the man's soul; not of the kind Louk hunted, but simple human failing. It was still dangerous enough that Louk vowed to keep close tabs on the man. Olga, for one reason or another, would draw many threats in the days to come. Some earned, others not. It would be his job to keep her safe from men like Grishom.

"Now, that is a troubled look" Olga observed.

"Merely observing what I have to work with" he muttered.

"You should smile." She offered a short wave to a pair of dark elves near the back of the room. One scowled, the other hastily turned away.

"Not fans of yours, I take it."

"It would be selfish to assume my actions have not caused unearned prejudice against my kin." Olga let out a soft sigh. "It stands to reason that not all of my kin would greet me with warmth."

"No good deed goes unpunished" he breathed.

"Is committing an unjust action for a just reason still considered good?"

"I'm not the right person to ask that question."

The dark elf's lips curved in a mesmerizing smirk. "You claim that goodness is not a quality you possess, sir. I wonder how high your standards are."

"As high as experience dictates" he answered evenly.

"Such a sour mood" she chided. "Ruins the appetite."

"I wasn't hungry to begin with." He motioned for a servant to take his plate away.

"One would think you undead" Olga murmured, thinking her voice hidden by her glass.

He chose to ignore that. Celeste had put her hand over her glass, indicating to the waiting servant that she was finished. Quick as a flash, the servant fetched a crystal goblet, filled with plain water. Water for clearing her throat; for speaking. It was time for business to begin.

"Here we go" he warned.

"Hm," Olga agreed. The dark elf leaned over and whispered something to Celeste, who nodded quickly and whispered back. Satisfied, Olga straightened in her chair and reached over to pat Louk's hand. He tensed at the casual touch. "When the time comes, she wishes you speak as you will."

"She may regret that." Nodding respectfully to the high elf, who had turned to regard him with anticipation, he clasped his hand over his heart.

The clink of a silver spoon tapping her crystal goblet peeled through the chamber like a town bell. All conversation faded, heads turned to watch and listen for the Goddess Reborn's first official words of the night. Their eagerness betrayed even the most disciplined.

Louk finished his glass with a long swig and quickly gestured for another. It was going to be a long night.

 **-v-**

"You look like you need a drink."

Celeste started in surprise. Louk Shannegh had crept up without a sound, moving in that mysterious way that defied the heavy boots and weapons he wore at all times. Turning her head, she spotted the man leaning against the balcony, his attention nominally on the city below. There was a heaviness in his shoulders, a tired weight that had grown with over the night. The Grand Convocation had worn on them all. Her own mind was a blur now, overwhelmed by the questions and demands that had been raised. It would take most of the next day to sort through them all. And she still had the Shield's Council to host.

"The days stretch from one to the next" she answered. "I must look fondly to memories of my bed, and restful sleep."

He laughed, that strange self-deprecating grunting that struck her as even more sad than had he remained silent. "Those who are effective at their work rarely have time for rest."

"A sad fact of life" she agreed. His face angled in her direction, revealing the bitter frown cutting his mouth in a downwards slant. "What troubles you, Louk Shannegh?"

"For one, you using my full name like it's a title."

She blanched at the bluntness of his words. Then his frown lifted, if for a moment, and he produced a jug of wine from under his arm.

"You can call me Louk" he insisted. "And you never answered. Want a drink?"

Irritation prodded at her composure. The man was insufferable sometimes. And the way he put her off balance so easily irked her. She was the Goddess Reborn, a living icon of the gods' favor. The whole country bowed to her whim. Which was exactly why she enjoyed his presence, even as he made her uneasy. That sense of danger, not so much physical as it was emotional, excited her. Her whole life, she had only known one other who treated her as an equal. Now Olga was so terribly different, and Celeste feared that relationship would never be the same.

Was she out of line for seeking his company like this? If word got out of these one on one meetings, the rumors would fly like wildfire. Some had already started, according to Claudia. The Knight Commander warned her that too much closeness to the man would taint her reputation, would impugn her honor. Even with her age, Celeste could not help but feel excitement at the thought.

To share private company with Louk Shannegh was to court scandal. The very thought of it made her heart race in a way it had not since her youth.

"You don't have glasses" she noted.

"Don't need them." He gestured back towards the balcony entrance. The silence fell pleasantly on her ears. This was not her private balcony, but hidden away on the level that housed her most trusted guests. Olga, her servant Chloe, and Louk Shannegh occupied three of the five rooms on this level. One was unofficially reserved for Claudia due to her long stays in Ken, but the other stood empty. Too few had access to this level to bother Celeste when she needed an escape. That was why she had chosen this to retreat to following the Grand Convocation.

She had not expected Louk to come out and join her.

"Surely you don't expect me to drink straight from the jar." She grinned softly at the thought. Oh, the long-past days when that had been exactly how she had wined and dined. Straight from the bottle, Olga's face pressed next to hers as they shared the most delicious wines.

"I expect nothing." He lifted the jug and took a long, decadent swig. Surprisingly, he managed to not spill a drop. "I'm just out here to get drunk."

"You never answered either" Celeste told him.

"Nothing's troubling me" he lied. "I just don't like nobles, or parties, or both combined."

"I know that you received a message today" she scolded. "Do not deny it. What did it say?"

"Ah, that." He went to set the jug down but hesitated. Glancing over at her, he measured his words and held it up in offering. "How about this. You take a drink, I'll answer your questions."

"One drink, one question" she asked disbelievingly.

"Just take a drink" he growled.

Accepting the jug, Celeste realized it was mostly empty. Either Louk Shannegh had drunk the majority of it, or he had snatched it from a servant on his way out of the assembly. She sniffed curiously and found the scent amiable. "You like mead."

"Never had it before coming here" he admitted. "Normally I don't like sweet."

A mischievous grin spilled across her face as she lifted the jug and took a slow drink. Her smaller mouth did not quite cover the lip, and even with care she spilled several amber drops down her cheeks. The warm fluid raced down her neck, causing her to shiver with delight. Hastily setting the jug down, she swept at the sticky drops before they reached her neckline. Her companion had turned away.

"You chose well" she told him. Louk glanced back, hesitating for a moment as his eyes traced the trail the mead had spilled down her neck. His breath caught for a precious second, and a sudden queasiness built in her gut. Before she could make sense of it, he shrugged and bent down to grab the jug. Draining the last of it in one go, he wiped his mouth on the nice sleeve of his jacket and yawned.

"The border is under attack. Just skirmishes, nothing serious yet. But I would like permission to set off and investigate."

"Are we in danger?"

"I doubt it. The daemon needs to consolidate its power before it lashes out in force. This is most likely rabid bands that it has not reached or that slipped its control. The Bladestorm should hold without problem, but they will need reinforcements and supplies."

"You have already sent Miss Karen and Surefoot" Celeste pointed out.

"I didn't think you knew the mercenaries that well."

His surprise encouraged her. Even Louk Shannegh underestimated her knowledge and competence. It felt good to see him on the back foot, if only for a second.

"I may not know the names of each soldier in each company, but I know the commanders, if some only by name."

"I respect that" he said. Celeste did not understand why that simple acknowledgement sent a rush of heat through her veins. "But I told you I would answer some questions. Please, go ahead."

She hesitated. Uncertain of what to ask, but knowing there were some questions she should not, the high elf merely stepped closer, closing the gap between them. Louk Shannegh had a suffocating aura about him. A blanket of darkness and pain she could feel in her bones. It made her want to hold him and promise him everything would heal, would be made whole. That was the question she wanted to ask. And the one she knew he would never answer.

"The last time we stood on a balcony like this, you offered me your coat" she observed, resting her arms on the railing. A host of lights filled the inner ring of Ken tonight. With so many visitors about, there were endless parties and meetings going on that would continue late into the next morning. She wondered if her Shields were down there. Luu-Luu would be in a tavern, challenging any who dared to drinking contests. Claudia, as always, dutifully attended the duties of House Levantine, whether as a mediator for the House or as a representative of Celeste herself. An entourage had arrived from Thorn, priests and priestesses of Kaguya's God, accompanied by the disciplined warrior-class servants that protected them on the road. Ken was alive tonight. Yet she felt so alone.

"I doubt you want anyone walking in to see a shirtless man standing with their goddess" Louk said. Celeste giggled at the thought. "But if you insist."

To her horror, he reached up and began unbuttoning his jacket.

"No" she cried out, perhaps a little too loudly. He stopped, flashed her that knowing grin that twisted her stomach in knots, and let his hands fall to the railing. "You are a racal!"

"I've been accused of that before" he agreed.

"You should not do such things. I am the Goddess Reborn."

"You…" he shifted his weight on the railing and drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket. Offering it to Celeste, he indicated her throat. "Are an incredibly powerful woman. People of power are always surrounded by gainsayers, sycophants, and liars. It is stifling, or so I have been told. A bit of humor is good for relief."

"I doubt any of my advisors would agree with your brand of humor" she countered, taking the handkerchief and dabbing meekly at the wetness on her throat. Celeste did not miss the flicker of his gaze as he struggled to not stare. The heat of mead inflamed her courage, and she dared to run her hand across her chest. "Though I believe I see something that you agree with."

The boldness of her own words shocked her. Even as she let them out, she bit at her tongue to silence them. Terror stabbed through her heart, mirroring the guilt that flashed in Louk Shannegh's expression as he hastily looked away.

"I…" at a loss, Celeste stammered for something to say. She took a step back, putting distance between them. Clutching her hands nervously in front of her chest, she took several calming breaths, willing the butterflies in her stomach to settle. Oh gods, she had to much wine.

Louk Shannegh chuckled. He did not appear to take offense at her impropriety, nor did it rankle him. "I apologize. You have many virtues, Lady Celeste. Beauty is certainly one of them. I think it best I leave you here. Sleep well. Tomorrow is a new day."

"I… Rest," she called out after him. Her heart hammered like halfling war drums in her chest. "I wish you good dreams, Louk Shannegh."

Good dreams? Oh gods, why had she said that?

 **-v-**

The absence of two Shields had not gone unnoticed the night before. It stood glaringly obvious now, in the primary council chamber. Two empty seats on the broad table where the Goddess Reborn sat could not have been easier targets for rumor and gossip. Two most excitable Shields, the most impetuous of the lot, had fled Celeste's side. That was what the gossip would say, in the days to come.

Claudia had considered heading off those rumors with misinformation. It was easy enough to explain their absence. Alicia Arcturus' departure had occurred before most of the dignitaries had arrived, taking most of her Holy Iris Knights with her. As the primary protector of Feoh, it stood to reason that she could not remain far from the most vulnerable region for long. It had been nearly two weeks now since she had departed Feoh. With Prim here as well, the region relied on Minister Beasley for governance, and he had complete lacking in military affairs. Alicia's return to Feoh could understandably be blamed on some incident or other in Feoh.

As for Maia, well, Louk Shannegh had seen to that. Claudia did not know if his decision to send two companies of mercenaries, his newly renamed Templars, alongside the Mercenary Queen had been subterfuge or not, but the implications of her leaving were greatly improved by the maneuver. It was not Maia that left Ken now, but a detachment of mercenaries marching off to reinforce the border. If he had indeed planned it that way, then Louk Shannegh was a more canny man than she cared to admit. She already knew he was dangerously intelligent. This could have equally been a happy coincidence or a carefully measured ploy. For now, it remained to be seen, and Claudia was not one to count her chickens before they hatched.

Regardless, Celeste had forbid the spread of misinformation. No matter her intentions, the high elf had decided, a lie was a lie. She would not build her kingdom on falsehoods and mistrust, no matter how small the details. Claudia respected that. She loved Celeste for that, even though it made rulership so much more difficult. The gossips had little care for such petty concerns as truth.

This chamber held three long tables, arranged in a simple U-shape. Celeste sat at the center of the middle table, Shields arranged to either side. Dignitaries filled the other tables; so many had been extended invitations that they sat on both sides of the table rather than having all on the outside. As an unofficial rule, the clergy sat on the right and nobles on the left. The rest sat where they pleased, having worked out their own pecking order while taking seats.

Again, Celeste had chosen to shift the seating order in favor of the dark elf. Olga Discordia's presence still agitated her; at the very least, Celeste's refusal to condemn or punish the woman for the last century of death and destruction served as a stark admission to all present that Celeste had a soft spot for the woman. Few, if any, knew the truth of Celeste's history with Olga. Her Goddess had divulged that to Claudia in a private moment years ago. It was a damning secret, one that Claudia had feared discovery of ever since. If the common people found out that their Goddess claimed friendship with the Dark Queen, they would have lost all faith in her as a protector. It would have devastated Eostia.

Now, with each passing day of Celeste's blatant favoritism, that truth grew closer to discovery. She feared for her Goddess, should the rumors grow beyond control. Not all in Eostia harbored undying loyalty to Celeste. There were schemers and men of ill virtue throughout the land. Some even dared to weaken her power, her standing among the people. Those were the ones whom Claudia sought out, hunted in the shadows as her mantle of Levantine allowed. To her own shame, she the task did not suit her. She lacked the finesse of backroom politics and scheming. Her best efforts to uncover and root out dissidents rarely amounted to much other than sending them scattering like rodents fleeing a burning warehouse.

Those rats would return after today. She knew it in her bones. Louk Shannegh claimed to be a hunter. Perhaps he might know a better way to find them. The thought of what a man like him would do afterwards remained an entirely separate concern.

"Friends" Celeste began, drawing all in attendance to order. It spoke volumes of the woman's power and control that she did not need a herald to silence the room. "I again express my gratitude for your time. There is much to be done abroad, and every minute you spend is precious. For that, I am grateful."

The high elf rose to her feet and curtsied. Claudia glared across the room, fulfilling her role as Celeste's right hand. To the right, High Cardinal Grishom rose in response. Folding back his voluminous robes, he bowed to the Goddess.

"It is you to whom gratitude is owed, my Goddess. Your wisdom and purity are a symbol to us all."

Celeste offered the man a sweet smile as she took her seat. "Last night we spoke of the end of Olga Discordia's reign in Garan, and the loss of the Black Dogs under Vult's command. It was a meeting to discuss the past, to celebrate the present. Today we speak of the future."

Ordinarily, Celeste would have allowed some time to butter up the dignitaries, to greet them all and wax poetic of their value and their usefulness. The directness of her statements now warned Claudia that her Goddess had something planned. Something that she would rather get out before everyone rather than hold in. Those impetuous moments were dangerous. Celeste had a wonderful heart and a keen mind, but her emotions got the better of her from time to time. Praying this was not one such time, Claudia clasped her hands on her lap and braced.

"As you know, the Black Dogs succeeded for the longest time due to the leadership of General Vult. He was a truly gifted strategist, a peerless warrior, and a good friend." The Goddess' voice filled with true sorrow. Her sad tone pulled at Claudia's heart, as it did all present in the room. "Without his leadership, the true strength of the Black Dogs is gone. They are fine soldiers, all led by fine commanders, but without a united leadership they are merely companies of men. To face the demon legions of Garan, we need an army."

"Who can possibly lead them" Sir Michael Pantielle asked. Sir Michael stood three years younger than Claudia's father-in-law, Grave. The two had trained and fought side-by-side in their early years. Together they had held Geofu and Ur against the demons, and won great renown as commanders. "The Black Dogs have always answered to Vult."

"It is true," Celeste agreed. "The Black Dogs were molded by Vult's hands, and after speaking with several of their commanders stationed in this city, their desire to not be folded into a regular army is quite strong. They are, and have always been, mercenaries. Simply placing a noble in charge of the Black Dogs would have no effect, save to sow discord and distrust in their ranks."

Several of the more ambitious nobles glowered at her words. Their anger not directed at Celeste, of course, but the undeniable truth that several had coveted leadership over so large an organization. Some might have even dared to assume Vult's replacement could come from their own ranks. It would never have happened. Vult had succeeded because he, like so many of the mercenaries, had been born a common man. His roots were with the common people, as were his men's. That was what had made him so charismatic a leader. Claudia had not found another man like him anywhere in Eostia. Vult had led with stubborn, if crude, determination, and an earnest heart for victory. These nobles cared more for personal advancement than victory, for their own glory than the lives of their soldiers. They could not hold a candle to Vult's fire.

"Who, then" Sir John Mandeville asked. The merchant prince, as some called him, stood one of the few in Eostia with an equivalent to a mercenary army. He had a force of eight thousand men under arms, serving as guards to his convoys and hired swords for areas where the Black Dogs simply lacked the bodies to cover. While not as disciplined as the Black Dogs, Sir John's guards had their own reputation for effectiveness. That, and his contracts with the Black Dogs provided the majority of their campaign provisions. Vult had known the man personally, and while Vult had once privately confided to Claudia that he did not approve of Sir John's involvement, he had admitted that Sir John's resources were as valuable to the Black Dogs as their weapons. Out of all the men present, he stood the greatest chance of an outside endorsement from the Black Dogs.

The man had never told her just what it was about Sir John that he had disliked. Only that Vult found the man… disingenuous.

"To lead the Black Dogs, we need someone who is both warrior and commander. The Black Dogs rightly value strength and honor. These qualities are admirable in any, yet vastly important to an army. The mercenaries need a leader whose strength will see them end their foes, and whose tactics will bring them home. I can think of only one man who could gain and hold such esteem."

The pregnant pause made Claudia's skin crawl. That familiar sense of crippling dread seized her as Celeste turned her head, sweeping her gaze over and to the left.

 _No!_

"Louk Shannegh is such a man."

Claudia did not know if the room fell silent, or if she went suddenly deaf. A sharp, stinging pain lanced through her mind, shock numbing her senses as her Goddess handed the most powerful military position in the world to a stranger. She knew her jaw dropped, was fairly certain she said something, but all that echoed in her ears was a soft hum, like she had been dropped underwater. Her stomach lurched, sickened, and she clenched her teeth to hold her guts in her belly.

When her ears popped, sound returned like waves crashing into the cliffside. The chamber was in uproar. Nobles stood and argued to Celeste, their voices overlapping and drowning each other for need of being heard. The clergy had risen as well, though each held silence save the High Cardinal who clearly wanted to speak, but could not due to the cacophony. Blessedly, the Shields remained silent.

Celeste's distress at the outcry showed on the gentle elf's face. She had her hands raised placatingly; her words could not be heard over the noise. Claudia grimaced and stood. It did not matter the decision. Order must be maintained. Frantic discussion and argumentation would do nothing. Snatching up the gavel at her seat, she hammered down on the table. The thunderous boom of the gavel silenced them.

"Order" she bellowed. Her practiced command tone drove the nobles to silence. "You are leaders of Eostia, not squabbling children. Hold your tongues and listen to your Goddess!"

Chastened, they looked to Celeste. The high elf thanked Claudia, clearly flustered by the outburst.

"Many of you do not know Louk Shannegh. He is a stranger to our lands, and only recently arrived. In that short time, he has saved the life of a Shield. He joined Vult and his army at my behest and ventured into Garan, where he alone returned with Olga Discordia. Louk Shannegh knows the enemy we face. He has fought it, and he knows how to continue that fight. I cannot think of a better man for the position."

"I appreciate your words" Louk Shannegh interjected, offering a respectful pause in case she desired to continue. "Lady Celeste speaks the truth. I know what we are fighting, far better than any of you."

"A stranger, knows better than any of our honored commanders?" Sir Sodren, a dwarf of Ansur, equally a lord as he was a miner, harrumphed at the declaration. "Listen, lad, I've been fighting the orcs for longer than you've been off your mother's teat!"

"Sir Sodren" Claudia warned. The dwarf blinked at her owlishly, then brightened cherry red and bobbed his head.

"Apologies, Lady Celeste. My tongue got the better of me. But the fact remains, how can this man claim to know more about our foe than we do? What does he have that we don't?"

"And how old are you, Sir?" Louk's eyes flashed hard as flint, his ire roused. Perhaps less by the dwarf's accusation than the basic challenge to his capabilities. Pride was the man's weakness, then. He stood well when the Shields had accused him, had thrown thrown his words about like trash. But when a man accused him, well that was another matter. Claudia had not thought the man a chauvinist.

"One hundred and twenty five" the dwarf answered proudly. "Spent one hundred of them fighting those bas- demons, on the border."

"And yet you still haven't beaten them. You still stand at the border and pray that they will not come over for you."

Louk's challenging words set the dwarf sputtering in indignation.

"Listen here, you child!"

"Shut up." The simple command cut the dwarf short. Before any could fill the void, Louk continued. "I have more experience than you could understand, and a fresh look at things that none of you have. Regardless," he faced Celeste, "I must decline. Commanding an army is not my calling. That is a matter more suited for Claudia Levantine."

Claudia stared at the man. She was well aware that the room had set their attention on her now. She was not quite certain how she should respond. The thought of her leading the entirety of Eostia's military had never occurred to her.

Louk continued. "The Black Dogs would willingly follow a commander whom Vult respected. Claudia earned the respect. She has fought alongside them. She knows commanders, she knows tactics, and she has the loyalty of his men. She, I believe, is the true choice for the new army."

"I see" Celeste murmured, her voice soft and disappointed.

For her part, Claudia glared at the man, suspecting foul play. He had not struck her as a man willing to part with power. Every move since he had arrived had been a power play, an attempt to leverage them for his own benefit. Hadn't it? The threat was real, whatever it was. That did not mean he had carte blanche on his actions. She distrusted the man's sudden change of heart.

"That is generous" Claudia said through clenched teeth.

"I am not interested in command, Knight Levantine. My only concern is slaying the creature that controls the demons."

"Seems like you've got that monster right here" the High Cardinal accused. "Why does Olga Discordia yet live? Have her sins not condemned her life as forfeit?"

"Olga Discordia's sins are known" Celeste agreed. "But in wake of a new danger, her experience may prove of use."

"You trust this witch?"

"She is an asset" Louk announced.

"And so the lives of good men who died against her hordes?"

"Are remembered as warriors who fought for their people" Louk answered. The ease with which he directed the conversation out of Celeste's hands unnerved Claudia. The man had a way of controlling those around him. "She is no longer the enemy. Move on."

"You dare to ask us to move on? To forget the hundreds of lives lost to the demons?"

"Because your sense of mourning just fills the room" Louk snapped. "Have you ever walked a battlefield when the crows are heavy on it? Have you stood in the butcher's field, surrounded by the broken bodies of men and women? Have you held a child in your arms as it bled to death, its throat ripped out and its eviscerated parents spilled around its feet?"

The disgust in Louk's tone set Claudia on edge. The High Cardinal's face paled, taken aback by his vehemence. In one fell swoop, Louk Shannegh had turned the whole clergy against him. That was clearly not the move of a man who desired power above all else. It was a dangerous, gambler's decision. Louk Shannegh had weighed his words carefully. The man knew exactly what he was doing. Putting the focus and irritation on himself, taking away any backlash at his vote of approval towards her, or Celeste's decision.

The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. Assuming the anger and reprisal, deflecting attention away from the others. Perhaps that was his plan then. This whole ordeal was carefully orchestrated by him. Shooting a furtive glance at Celeste, Claudia realized that Celeste had not expected this. Her flustered composure threatened to crack her calm expression.

Before she could formulate her own words, to try and take control of the conversation, Celeste silenced them all. Lifting her hand to order silence, the high elf reined back their attention. She let out a long breath before speaking.

"The good knight Claudia Levantine will serve as commander of the remaining Black Dogs mercenaries, then. Their name will no longer be Black Dogs. That name ends with Vult. Their name henceforth will be the Templars. They will serve as the shield which protects Eostia from the demons of Garan, but they will serve under my banner rather than that of coin."

"Will we still have to pay them as mercenaries" one of the merchants asked, greed in his eyes.

"They will continue to serve as mercenaries, in payment" Celeste agreed. "I will not force them to surrender their livelihood in the same work they served before."

Her decision did not sit well with the merchants, if only for the promise of profits vanishing before their eyes. Sir John in particular did not seem keen on the idea. Claudia knew the man would have happily hired in whole companies of the Black Dogs mercenaries had they fled the prospect of soldier pay.

"I ask that you support my decision," Celeste told them. "Claudia Levantine will take command of the Templars, as well as her own forces in Geof. Those in other regions, I must ask you to work with my Shields to secure your borders. The time will come soon when war must rise again. I do not want to see our people suffer. Can I count on you, the nobles, to govern your lands and provide soldiers to defend them?"

The noblemen voiced their approval. Sir Michael in particular glowed with eagerness. The old knight had not tasted battle in years. His eldest son, Mikhail, served in his stead. Claudia had watched Mikhail closely since his ascendancy to the head of the Pantielle command. Though still somewhat inexperienced, he had a good head on his shoulders and quick reaction time. Exercises with his forces had always gone smoothly. Soon, she knew, his theory knowledge would be put to bloody test.

"And you, merchants, will you ensure stability in our lands?"

"Of course we will" Sir John announced, speaking for them all. As one of the privileged Trader Masters of Eostia, he had right to do so. The merchants had their own hierarchy, and Sir John's family had owned the top rung for several generations. Though old and without heir, Sir John had a vitality to his frame and a sharpness to his mind that ensured the merchants always worked in concert with Lady Celeste.

"My church?"

"We serve the Goddess" High Cardinal Grishom declared, bowing low. There was no mistaking the irritation in his voice, nor the dark glares he and his men shot Louk Shannegh.

When Claudia finally left the room, the last besides Celeste, she knew two things for certain.

The days ahead would challenge her to the very core of her being.

Louk Shannegh was far more dangerous than she could possibly have imagined.


	14. Border War

**A/N: It's a short one, but I couldn't think of a good extender to make this 'normal size.'**

 **Reviewers-**

kirito emiya- Glad you like it!  
FleetingReality- That's fine. Encouragement of reviews alone is helpful.  
Guest- What, a Warhammer story going to shit? That NEVER happens!  
ManwithaPlan113- He's old. Was debating giving it away at the Council, but the timing was wrong. 40k Orks would steamroll this place, but so would ever 40k faction. And yes, an immortal virgin is still a virgin.  
Staff Sergeant- I MISS YOUR STORY! And yes, all the political manipulation. Much clever. So Inquisition.  
Abdiel Amaro- Claudia is definitely an analyst. But with the Inquisition-types, you can never tell what is and is not intentional.  
The Storm Master- Sir John Mandeville is going to be a rather important part of the story, probably. As for romance, Olga would be the likely bet.  
SomeGuyOverHere- Louk's a lot smarter than he was in TWIF. Celeste is a pretty wise and intelligent person, but when you glorify a mortal to immortal status, that person can never fully live up to the expectations. Celeste has had help, and she is far from bad at her job, but yes, she is "only human."  
Interested Guest- made me laugh.  
Demon-255 - Glad you like it! It's been surprisingly fun to work on.  
Guest 2- trying to make everyone have real story. Some are easier than others.  
Guest 3- Good stories skim reality without getting too close to it. Fanatical racism would be really boring. and a coptout for easy plot-writing.  
Disciple of Ember- Oh, haaaaaaaaai. Virtuoso and his pals are going to be uniquely awesome in this story. Each element is going to be pretty memorable. That being said, it's going to be a brutal story. I can't promise it won't toe (or even dip into) the edge of lewd, because after all it is still based on an H-game. That being said, everything has a purpose. I am trying very hard to make everything make sense, everything have story, etc... Hopefully it will work as intended.

 **have fun!**

* * *

 **Ken Countryside**

Prim gazed at the receding line of mercenaries. Pikemen under the command of the garish nobleborn Tagilli marched in ordered columns, their towering pikes sticking in the air above them. A long line of carts accompanied the formation, interspersed throughout, complete with accompanying servants. True to his noble roots, Tagilli preferred to campaign in comfort. A forest of brightly colored banners denoting his coat of arms made sure that any who could see his company knew to whom they owed loyalty.

For all the pageantry, her attention rested not on the uniformed mercenaries and fluttering banners, but the lone figure galloping along the length of the column. He rode as if the devil itself chased him, though she knew it was the devil he charged towards, not away from. High on the white battlements, her Goddess watched over the departing column. Words would have passed between the two on his departure. It was only by her permission that Louk Shannegh left the city. Though he had turned down the offer of command of the newly named Templars, he had not avoided responsibility entirely. Now he set out as Celeste's chief strategist. A position, Prim had been assured by Claudia, that held no true power, but carried the weight of Celeste's own voice. She did not understand what the position entailed.

Now the man took even more mercenaries in aim to reinforce the border. Maia's departure, alongside a company of archers, hinted at trouble brewing. With Louk Shannegh going as well, Prim knew that the danger he had warned of now threatened them all. That was why she had begged leave of the Goddess. Alicia had already returned to Feoh, but Prim feared for her people. They would need both Prim's guiding hand and Alicia's stern sword arm in the upcoming war. Because it would be a war, and she feared it would be something entirely different from the wars of yesteryear.

Her intention had been to merely take the remaining Knights Iris that had stayed in Ken. The lands were safe between Ken and Feoh. The nagging memory of the ambush on the road in Feoh still sent tingles through her belly, but she knew it would not happen again. The gods were not so cruel and merciless. Ten Knights Iris served a good escort.

So when Louk Shannegh insisted that an entire company of mercenaries accompany her, Prim had balked at the waste of resources. The massive contingent of warriors under the command of Khoros the Axe, an intimidating brute, had been tasked to support Feoh and assist in fortifying the border. That alone had convinced her to accept Louk Shannegh's offer. Though thinly veiled behind their task of securing the border, it struck her as blatantly clear that the man concerned himself more with her safety than the immediate relocation of the men. After all, it took time to mobilize a company of men, much less a company of engineers. They had supplies to acquire, supply lines to repurpose.

The presence of so many uncouth men made her uneasy. It was not fear. She had no reason to fear the men who now marched behind her knights. They were crude, dirty men, however, and the apprehension of her knights practically oozed onto the road. None of the women of Feoh were comfortable with sharing a camp alongside Khoros' men. Prim had yet to start this journey, and already she looked forward to the end of it.

A bright spot in the journey, however, was the other unexpected company. Sir Mikhail Pantielle approached her early in the morning, as she and her knights finished preparing for the journey. His father had decided to stay behind in Ken for a time, and ordered Mikhail back to Ur to manage affairs. As they shared the main road up until he reached his home, the eldest of Pantielle son offered to accompany Prim and her knights as far as the Ur-Feoh border.

She did not mind having Mikhail along. Ten years her elder, Mikhail was a handsome man with a kind heart, but had tutored alongside Alicia in the ways of war and combat. He was a noble warrior, entertaining to watch in tournaments. His first wife had passed away in childbirth, a tragedy that had failed to blunt the man's luster, even though she knew it was a sore topic that he kept close to his heart. Prim had adored his wife. Ever since, Mikhail had turned down numerous marriage proposals. His father had only allowed his son's stubborn refusal on account of the deep bond the two shared. Sir Michael understood his son like no other. Prim envied that relationship.

Now Sir Mikhail and his accompanying attendants stood at the edge of the field, waiting patiently. Four Knights of Ur, a dozen servants, Mikhail and his youngest brother Micah, and one sour-looking woman who Prim knew to be the family's majordomo Sybil. A fine addition to their travel.

"What I would give to trade Tagilii's pikemen for these diggers" Ila grumbled, her voice low enough that only Prim could hear.

"I doubt you would find Tagilli's men volunteering to dig trenches or build walls" Prim countered, maintaining her smile. She waved ahead to Mikhail's party.

"It would save us two days of travel to leave them behind" the leader of her escort restated, for the third time. "It is a farce to have us wait on them. Begging my pardon, princess, but there will be a full squadron of Knights Iris waiting for us at the border. We don't need these men as an escort, nor do we need to abide by the absurd pretense that Mister Shannegh is forcing on us."

"Mister Shannegh is concerned with the safety of Eostia" Prim pointed out. "I believe he merely used this as a convenient coincidence. No insult was intended to your skills, Ila."

"I know that." Ila glowered in the direction of Tagilli's column. "Forgive me, princess. You should not suffer through the complaints of a mere knight."

"Now that" Prim said with a grin, "it an insult. Neither you nor your sisters should ever fear speaking your mind in my presence. Come now, we will be back in Feoh before you know it. I know at least one who is anxiously awaiting your return."

Ila's face reddened. "Princess!"

Suppressing a giggle, Prim nudged Cornflower just a little, enough to speed the mare ahead. Sir Mikkail eased his horse onto the road to join her. Resplendent in his riding armor, a burnished steel hauberk under the deep blue tabard of his house, he cut a very different figure than the sullen mercenary commander marching behind them. Prim guided Cornflower to the side so he could walk alongside her.

"Not a cloud in the sky" he announced.

"Surely an auspicious sign" Prim agreed. "How fare's your family, Sir Mikhail?"

"Kicking and screaming" he replied. "Your cousin, Alicia. She is already in Feoh, yes? Returned early to make sure Minister Snoozely is keeping the land steady."

She made a face, stunned by the audacity of his comment even though it entertained her. It had occurred to her, some time ago, that Mikhail was the exact sort of man that could make Alicia happy. The story was obvious: Alicia and Mikhail had grown up close, training under the same tutors, preparing for war, attending functions. Both were of noble lineage, and had similar interests. Pairing the two in her head had always brought a smile to Prim's face. She just wished one or the other would wise up to the idea.

"Alicia is well" Prim answered. "Affairs of state called her home early."

"A shame." The man shrugged, but his smile remained. "I guess you have no recourse but to suffer my boring military droll by yourself."

"As I grow older I find myself more intrigued by such things" Prim replied. "And with the darkness looming over the border, I fear that knowledge will be sorely needed."

His smile froze, tightening, and Mikhail let out a slow sigh. "Yes, I fear you are not wrong in that."

 **-v-**

 **Pass of Four Hundred Sorrows, Border of Ken and Garan**

Forty three dead.

Maia stood before the ordered rows of blanket-covered bodies, the stench of salt and flour filling her nostrils. The attacks had been so frequent, according to Marc's report, that there had been no time to arrange sending their bodies home. The oldest dead stank now; even covering their corpses had done little to prevent decomposition.

It turned her stomach to see so many dead in such a small location. The piles of dead monsters outside the wall attested to the heavy fighting they had weathered. One of the towers had a crumbling hole in the battlements, shattered by ogre-thrown boulders. Even the gate showed damage from ogres.

"But not today" she breathed, hands on hips.

"No, this is the first day they have not launched an attack." Marc still wore his armor. He stank as a man who had not taken his armor off in days. Probably hadn't. Weariness slurred his words.

"Pull men off the line. Set a sleep rotation" Maia ordered. "Surefoot and Karen will reinforce the wall."

"Understood" he grunted. Turning slowly, he signalled to his lieutenants, clustered together in the shade of the wall. "They're using ladders now."

"Ladders?" Maia grimaced. "They don't use ladders."

"Didn't" he corrected. "Sturdy ones too."

"That's blasted bad luck" she grumbled. Running a hand through her hair, she pursed her lips in a frown. "We need to get these boys home, too. Tomorrow, after your men have rested, I want you to assemble a detail of those too wounded to be of effect. Have them take the dead home. I want them buried with honor."

"We appreciate that, ma'am."

Turning away from the dead, Maia put her hand on his brawny shoulder. It was subtle, but she could feel the trembling under his armor. Marc was standing on pure adrenaline, and that was fading quickly. Her limited experience with the Bladestorm had taught her Marc was the kind of man who would run himself ragged if danger lurked. He would never stand down while others faced the enemy. Seeking an excuse to send him to rest, she glanced over the tired mercenaries posted about.

Lady Surefoot had already begun posting her sentinels as replacements. The fusiliers had formed a rotation before her arrival; Diane's cadre benefited from their specialization as snipers. And though Karen's scouts were lightly armed, they served easily as wall guards, and could hold the battlements even against siege ladders. The fort was well-protected.

"See to your men, Marc. I will take first watch with Diane."

"As you command." He nodded, grateful for the order, and started off towards the barracks.

Signalling for the remaining commanders to join her at the wall, Maia strode for the stairs. Her own retinue of cavaliers would accompany the dead in the morning. Trained for horse combat, their skills would be wasted defending the border fort. Besides, she did not intend to stay long. The border fort would hold with so many mercenaries stationed now. Once her company returned, she would ride on to Rad. In the meantime, she would assist in managing the defenses.

"I don't like this" she muttered, surveying the pass. The bodies of demons littered the approach, a carpet of death and futility. Hundreds of dead, stacked against the walls in a macabre ramp. Blasted patches of shattered bones and gore spoke of Diane's efforts to keep the piles from rising. Her explosives had proven their worth during the siege. The acrid odor of gunpowder and gore raised an unholy stench, however, and she quickly tied a handkerchief over her mouth. "They aren't supposed to learn."

"Ladders are not the only change" Diane agreed, her sharp features pressed in distaste. "We saw the orcs piling bodies together as shields and… this _ramp_. It is horrible."

"But you have not seen any new creatures? No," Maia glanced around, and shooed away the nearest sentinel. " _Black Dogs_?"

" _Non_. Just the demons."

"Of course not." A slight tingle of vindication warmed her chest. "Just demons. That is not a danger."

"Demons are always a danger" Diane reminded. "Forty three of our men will vouch for that."

"A danger to the fort" Maia growled. She shot Diane a glare, but the eccentric blonde bore no malice. Like the others, Diane was exhausted. There was no need to challenge or posture. "I did not intend to dismiss the fallen. In a siege, their numbers mean little unless they can breach the gate. How do you repel the ladders?"

"The more fall at the wall, the flatter their angle becomes" Diane reported. "By now they can simply lay the ladder on the dead, making it harder to repel. My fusiliers have taken to shooting away lengths of the ladder. It is costly, and takes time, but it works."

"Where are they making them" Maia wondered aloud. "We have never seen demons use tools."

"We know little of the demons" Diane admitted. "From what Lady Olga told us, she held them back, kept them contained. I do not know if I believe it, but these ladders appeared as soon as she lost power."

"Whether or not Olga Discordia was some secretive saint is not a concern" Maia snarled, spitting over the side of the wall. She paused, staring along the path. Her eyes narrowed. A plume of dust rose in the distance. "Diane, do you see that?"

"That isn't an attack" the blonde stated. "Riders, I should think."

"I agree. Prepare the gate, and stand the guards to the wall."

"Our orders were to not open the gate for anyone" Diane argued, waving her tricorn to catch the bugler's attention. " _Richarde_ , stand to!"

"If there are good men in Garan, I will not let them die because that bastard Louk Shannegh denied them escape." Maia put her hands on her swords, her blood rushing from trickling creek to a river. "Surefoot! Archers to the walls!"

The beastkin commander broke from the barracks, where she organized her lieutenants. Skipping into a run, she leapt into the air and flapped up to the wall, landing gracefully alongside them. "Riders" she stated without hesitation. "Black Dogs, Polso's heavy cavalry."

"Polso's men passed by just a day before we closed the fort" Diane breathed. Uncertainty crept into her voice. "Surefoot, are they injured?"

"Blood" Surefoot agreed. "Demons chase. Six Black Dogs."

Trusting in the beastkin's sharper eyes, Maia leapt into action. "Open the gates! Let them in."

"Our orders" Diane protested.

"Damn Louk Shannegh's orders!" Maia rounded on the blonde with a snarl. "Post your fusiliers. Prepare to repel the demons. Once Polso's men are through the gate, we close it. Have spearmen form to greet them, if you must. Lady Surefoot, pull twenty archers to guard inwards. _If_ they are a threat," Maia sneered at the idea of it, "then by all means shoot them all."

Refusing to hear any arguments, Maia hurried to the stairs. Surefoot followed, loosing her hunting cry to summon her archers to the walls. The spearmen on watch eyed Maia in anticipation, awaiting orders. Diane's barking commands on the wall told Maia that her orders were being followed, however grudgingly.

"Spearmen, two files, line the gate entrance. We have riders coming in."

The gates swung inwards, wooden frames groaning as they finally moved from their locked position. Maia stood at the end of the double line of spearmen, hands on her sword hilts, watching expectantly as the riders closed in. Behind them, approaching in the distance, orcs and imps rushed impotently after the riders. They were too far back to reach the gate.

Six riders thundered through the arch, reining their horses in sharply once the walls had been cleared. They looked a sorry mess; each mount bore fresh cuts and rough scars, and heaved white froth as they panted for breath. The men were not much better. Bandages covered many, their weapons were thick with dried demon blood. They looked like hell.

"Polso" Maia called, spotting the gold-trimmed crest of the lead rider's bascinet. Lady Surefoot started forward to take the horse's reins. "Are there any others?"

"No survivors" Polso hissed, his voice gruff and sharp.

"What happened?"

Lady Surefoot gripped the reins, looked up at Polso curiously.

Then her head separated from her shoulders in a fountain of blood.

Maia in horror. The beastkin commander's body hung motionless for a moment, suspended as if in water, even as her head tumbled to the ground at her feet. Dreamlike, almost as an afterthought, Polso's arm swept over, bringing his blade across the throat exactly where the cut had gone. Surefoot's corpse collapsed, crumbling like dust.

"No survivors" Polso shouted, his voice washing over Maia like cold water.

Her blades came out on their own volition, thrown by honed instinct. Something heavy smashed one of her swords aside, slicing open her arm. Staggering backwards, Maia tried to make sense of the sudden attack. Polso's men had dismounted, and were slicing through the spearmen like wraiths. Men were falling and dying in droves, some being cut open before they were even touched.

Then Polso's sword came down, slicing the air in front of her. He leapt off his horse, gliding to the ground, and charged after her.

"Polso! Stop this madne-"

Slicing protectively with her swords, Maia sought to clear space between them. That unseen blade slapped one sword out of the way and scored a shallow line across her stomach. Her lungs expelled in a rush; the touch of the unseen blade brought a creeping numbness after it. Cold spread over the stomach.

"There were no survivors" Polso said again. His motions were blurry, slow. When she went to swing, though, her blade passed through his body without finding purchase. The crunch of boots on dirt echoed to her left, and Maia spun away from the sound. This time the blade merely nicked her back, a pinprick that stabbed an icy chill deep into her spine.

"What monster are you" she snarled, hot wrath exploding. Launching a devastatingly fast two-blade combination, she swung wildly all about. His body was in front of her, but the sounds came from the right. Cloaked in an illusion, he tricked the senses. Ahead, towards the gatehouse, she saw three of his knights guarding the gate levers. Dozens of Templars lay at their feet, and they prowled in constant motion. Arrow fire from the wall thudded uselessly into the ground. Arrows that should have struck vital unarmored points sailed harmlessly through their forms. These were not Polso's men, Maia realized with horror. They were something entirely different.

Two more charged up the stairs towards the gatehouse tower. Even as she watched, four archers took the top of the steps and fired a volley. Their illusionary magic did not help with no room to maneuver. The first stumbled, arrows thudding into an invisibly body, and the man's body slipped into place as he fell from the stairs.

"Sorcery" Maia growled. Her eyes were useless. Closing them, Maia focused on her other senses. Her ears picked out the rush of a blade easily enough. The tramp of boots and armor rang like church her swords after the sounds, she struck his blade again, and again. "You fucking traitor!"

"No survivors" Polso repeated. "There will be no survivors."

His blade lunged, putting all his might into the blow. She could only catch his blade; stopping it and counter attacking was impossible when she could barely keep up with his invisible form. Throwing herself to the side, Maia dropped into a roll and threw her blades out at ankle level. One missed, but the other caught an invisible boot. Polso's startled grunt spilled out, and he crashed to the ground. His illusion body fell back into the struggling armored body.

Pushing off the ground to reverse her momentum, Maia fell on Polso and stabbed frantically. Both blades gouged against his armor, not quite striking where they should as his form shimmered. But then one blade pierced his unarmored throat. Then the other stabbed into his shoulder joint. Dark blood sprayed out from the wounds, coating Maia in chilled vitae. She stabbed until his form went still.

Rising unsteadily from the corpse, Maia gaped down at his sword, protruding from her stomach. She hadn't even felt it slide in. Her whole stomach was cold. One sword slipped from her grasp, clattering to the ground. Then her knees sank to the ground. Stunned, she looked up at the gate.

The last knight had butchered his way past ten archers. One more stood in his path, frantically slashing with a long knife as the knight advanced on her. The archer lunged, desperate for a hit, but the invisible knight grabbed the archer and hurled her over the wall. She screamed for a moment, then snapped silent. Diane stood at the door of the tower, eyes closed, hands crossed in front of her hips.

" _Run_ " Maia whispered. Her lungs were heavy, throat closing. Breath wheezed from her lungs as she slumped to the ground, leaning against Polso's corpse. " _The...gate._ "

At the last moment, Diane threw up her arms and both of her pistols cracked. The knight lurched backwards, slamming to the walkway, and fell still. The blonde holstered her weapons, drew a bomb and hurled it over at the three knights guarding the gate. Two vanished in the explosion, but the third shook off the shards.

Then the orcs charged through.


	15. The Bloody Inquisition

**A/N: Happy Space Wolf Codex Preorder Day!**

Reviewers-  
Great Celestial-Dragon-

You done fucked up, Ma-Aia!  
 **ManwithaPlan113-** To be fair, even Diane hesitated on that one. But yes, sneaky sneaky Slaaneshi shenanigans.  
 **FrancisVamp0822-** Hurricane, I mean if you consider The Day After Tomorrow to be a tropical storm... And, well, I would say it is purely romantic. Emotions are complex. Celeste is certainly feeling something though.  
 **NEETsoc** **-** Oh, you sweet summer child. You're only on chapter 2. She gets better (and worse)  
 **Abdiel Amaro-** Disciple of Ember is awesome. They know me from my other account too. As for the Inquisition, when you get past the grimdark dumbness, there is a viable argument for getting rid of those affected by daemons. But it's all a question of the human condition.  
 **FleeingReality-** haha... Do you think there will be a happy endgame?  
 **Rylomakin-** I mean... yeah. Pride comes before the fall. And one thing anime characters have in spades is pride.  
 **Disciple of Ember-** The sword is a bit odd from the onset, I agree. But there's more to it, and it will get explained (just not yet). The afterimage idea was much easier to picture than write, so I am glad it worked out. I got what you were saying about *that* stuff. You won't have to suffer through a 45-chapter buildup for any romance to go through, pretty sure.  
 **The Storm Master 657-** I burst out laughing when I saw this review.  
 **DanteInfernus-** Knights were never a "standard military force." they were always elite, and more private citizens that served their lord rather than generic army. Considering most/all knights are nobles, complaining about stenches and dirty soldiers and such would actually make some sense. With Feoh relying on no mercenaries, they also wouldn't be used to it. I'd think it fairly believable. Don't worry about Prim. She'll have her moMENT IIIIIN THE SUNNNNN (cue Galavant music). Writing the Shields is obviously a fine balance of sticking to their characters but making them not-retarded. But there's still gotta be true to character, which isn't doing much for them.  
 **Ronmr-** ...like her name was A-Aron  
 **Guest-** But Khoros is such a nice guy! He and his filthy dirty sapper guys clearly have hearts of gold and will drop into a broadway dance routine when someone mentions feelings!  
 **Lorenzo98-** Just Slaanesh. Virtuoso's a jealous daemon. Don't worry about Maia. She'll get learned real quick.

* * *

 **Feoh**

Alicia stared at the map, ignoring the bubbling frustration threatening to explode out from her calm facade. The flags mocked her, peering up from their placement on the table-sized map of her sworn lands. Not a one had been added since she and Prim had set out for the small village of Marigar. Hidden behind her composed mask, she fumed. It was a simple enough task to update the table. Every one of her Knights had been trained in its use, as had a dozen castle servants and Minister Beasley himself. It was a simple, but markedly vital task. How else could they know where to deploy the patrol squadrons? How else could she know where the demons had crept over the mountains to raid her people?

"Not a single raid" she breathed, refusing to believe the report.

"Lady Thalia's riders have reported only silence" the young squire confirmed, blissfully unaware of Alicia's anger. Barely thirteen, the boy was the youngest son of a noble family that lived in the capitol. She had already forgotten his name, to her shame. It would be easy to pass that off as her distraction; the boy was brand new to the rank and had mentioned it in passing as she stormed off to the strategy room. Still, it mattered, and that failure only added to her anger.

"That isn't possible" Alicia muttered. "The borders have not been this silent since the Dark Queen rose to power."

"I can task a rider to bring Lady Thalia back to the capitol" the squire assured Alicia, seeking to earn a mark for initiative. Alicia dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand.

"Lady Thalia's reports are not to be questioned. I trust her word implicitly. It is the lack of demons that I do not trust. They are like roaches; there is always another warband creeping out from the mountains."

The squire clearly did not know whether or not to respond to the comparison, and wisely held his silence. Letting herself forget the young man for a moment, she concentrated on the map. There must be something she was missing. The doom-and-gloom preaching by Reaper had her on edge still. Despite her best efforts, his words had unnerved her. There was just enough believability to make her worry. She knew just how vulnerable Feoh was compared to the other regions.

Feoh was, and always had been, the most isolated of the seven regions of Eostia. Thorne, on the other side of the V-shaped territories, had thicker mountains to protect it, and a fanatical population that would take up arms in a heartbeat to defend their priestesses and their god. Claudia had mentioned once, on one of their excursions, that Throne would never fall to invasion because "behind every tree and bush would be a zealot with a spear." There were more fighting persons in Thorne than any other region, and the terrain worked in their favor. Winding valleys prevented fast movement by armies, and funneled the same into ambush points and bottlenecks.

Not so for Feoh. The mountain borders were thin here, and those gave way quickly to a skirt of forest stretching five miles wide at the broadest. Beyond that was farmland. Once free of the border forest, there was little in the way of natural occurrence to slow or divert an army. Twice, in the long war with the Dark Queen, the Demon Legion had attempted to swallow Feoh. The first time, they were stopped at the bank of the Groscine River. The second, the horde had reached the walls of the capitol itself before being turned back by the newly promoted Mercenary General Vult and his Black Dogs.

The people of Feoh were not warriors. They were farmers, hunters, traders. At most, one in ten of the civilians could hold a weapon with anything amount skill or determination. Feoh had always counted on its elite ranks of knights, both in the Holy Iris Chivalric Order and those of the private noble houses, to hold the demons at bay. For anything short of hordes, it worked well enough. The Holy Iris Chivalric Order had always born the brunt of the conflict.

Recruited equally from orphanages as from young girls seeking a more adventurous life outside their dreary farms or villages, the Holy Iris knights were a special force in Eostia. Claudia's Dawn Templars were fewer, but each Dawn Templar was a blooded noblewoman. They arrived to formal training with a background in horsemanship, swordcraft, and a learned tactics. The Holy Iris knights had to prove themselves. Each woman had to learn to ride, learn to wield a sword, wear armor…

She loved her knights. They were the most ferocious, loyal women she had ever met. Their pride mirrored her own, and Alicia knew they would never falter no matter the odds faced. At Alicia's insistence, the ranks of the Holy Iris Chivalric Order had swelled to four hundred, with another one hundred scouts. One hundred knights remained in the capitol at any given time as a garrison, with another two hundred housed in the ten towns of Feoh for local support. Fifty knights patrolled the border in a reinforced squadron; fifty were more than enough to deal with small warbands. The remaining were broken into retinues for Prim, Alicia, and instructors for the recruits. The hundred scouts, were spread all over Feoh, those that were not busy in training, for scouting and reconnaissance.

"Prepare a message" Alicia ordered. The squire hurriedly rushed to the writing desk and pulled parchment. When he voiced his readiness, she began. "To Lady Thalia, squadrons on patrol. Please finish your assigned rotation with a visit to the village of Marigar to the north. The lack of reported incidents as dropped suspiciously since Princess Prim Fiorire visited at the beginning of the month. Lady Milea's squadron will being their patrol at the southern border. No changeover is required."

"Understood" the squire confirmed, once the scratching quill fell silent. He handed it over to Alicia, who inspected the letter and nodded approvingly. His handwriting was legible and neat. She handed it back and gestured for him to take it away.

"Thank you" she offered.

The squire beamed. He fairly tripped over his feet rushing off to the door.

Once alone, Alicia let out a groan and gripped the edges of the table, fingers clenched tight as she fantasized throwing the table over. The demons had vanished, pulled back into Garan like shadows before the sunlight. She did not trust the quiet. The absence of the Dark Queen had indeed changed things. But who could say it was not Vult and his men keeping the demons at bay deep in Garan? If they had taken her fortress, surely that structure would serve as a beacon the daemons to assault.

Allowing the dark elf to remain in Ken was an insult. She should have been executed for her crimes. Olga Discordia was a demon herself, a creature of sorcery and… the whispers said, necromancy. There was no excuse for a light punishment for her sins against Eostia. But Celeste refused to even punish her! The dark elf had been quartered in Celeste's guest chambers; she lived closer to the high elf than any citizen of the lands.

What madness had fallen on her Goddess?

It was all the Reaper's fault. That man's arrival had turned her world upside down. The darkness that surrounded him had crept into everything it touched. She had sworn to discover the truth of his identity. Alicia would not rest until whatever wicked schemes he had planned were brought to light and dashed.

Feoh would not fall to his machinations. Neither, gods forbid, would Eostia.

"Prim" she breathed, thinking back to her cousin, left behind in Ken. It shamed Alicia to look back at her actions, at her lack of control. But that was behind her now. Prim would forgive her. So would Claudia; her mentor knew how unconscionable Celeste's decision was. But Claudia could not afford to stand against Celeste. As the Goddess' confidant, Claudia was bound by convention to stand by her Goddess in all things.

Olga Discordia's cruel smile haunted her thoughts. The dark elf queen was… evil. Alicia could not see why the others ignored the obvious. The woman oozed power and disdain. Her jaw clenched at the memory of Olga's eyes passing over Prim, and the unsettling intensity of the dark elf's attentions. If that creature attempted to harm Prim, the Goddess herself could not hold Alicia back from vengeance.

In the meantime, she had a country to defend.

 **Pass of Four Hundred Sorrows, border of Ken and Garan**

Maia woke in terror. A heavy cloth covered her face, blinding her to the world outside. Muffled noise echoed around her, voices and cries and the hacking sound of saws and blades. The air stank of blood. Bile filled her stomach, clawed at her throat. Tearing frantically at the cloth, she bit back a scream and thrashed. For a perilous moment her whole body seemed to seize up, limbs catching as they rolled over an abyss and hung motionless in the air. Her guts churned crazily, and every nerve on her body went white-hot.

Maia crashed to the wooden floor in a spew of her own vomit. Cold, slimy fluid poured up her throat, spilling through her teeth. Her cloth fell away, revealing bloodstained wooden floorboards. People were moving, about; armored boots tramped all around her. Agonized groans struck her in a riotous chorus, the familiar sound of post-battle surgeries.

It took her several ragged breaths to regain her senses. A stinging cold remained on her stomach. Her hand felt for the source, and found a raw, sore wound. Somebody had stitched it up; the lines were smoother than an average physician's work. Pushing up to her knees, Maia sat back on her heels and looked around, blinking back against the bright sunlight filling the barracks.

Every bed was filled with the dead and dying. Physicians and volunteers filled the alleys between the beds, running urgently from bed to bed, tending as best they could to the overflow. She gaped at the carnage, struggling to understand how they were still here. The orcs had poured through the gate. She had failed them. Polso and his damned knights, those horrible creatures, had held the gates.

"You're not dead" a dread voice growled behind her. Its touch passed over her in a vicious breeze, making her shiver with fear. Turning quickly, Maia rounded on the speaker. Her heart lurched in her chest, and the bile in her gut felt suddenly distant and inconsequential in the face of the shame that blossomed in its place.

"Reaper" she muttered, her voice hoarse.

"You're a tough one" he informed her. "Physicians said you were done. They'd never seen an exalted blade; they nearly killed you trying to pull the shards out."

"Why… what are you doing here?"

"Sitting, I would think." There was no humor in his voice. His gaze rested on her with the judgmental menace of a zealot priest interrogating a claimed heretic. Yet even that struck her as less fearsome than her own guilt. She sagged against the bed, fighting off a creeping dizziness.

"You brought reinforcements?"

"I accompanied another contingent." Louk Shannegh leaned forward in his chair. His cloak was up, hiding his face in shadow. But those brooding eyes burned with a fell light as he regarded her. "You were in a tight spot."

"The gates were taken" Maia wheezed. "I… Polso's men…"

"Were corrupted. You let them in."

"We had guards. I would never have, we didn't know."

"I am aware." He rose, and gestured for her to stand. "Come along, Maia."

She eased to her feet, fighting to steady herself. Her whole body shook, her sense of balance had not regained itself. Forcing the weakness aside, she moved on, carefully following Louk Shannegh's footsteps as he stalked out of the barracks. Everywhere she looked, the dead and dying surrounded her. There were several she did not recognize; their clothes were bright and multi-colored.

"What happened to me?"

"A cursed sword" Louk explained, stating it with such confidence she did not doubt him, even though the idea struck her as absurd. So would invisible swordsmen, a day ago. "Polso had gained favor. Putting him down couldn't have been easy."

"That, oh goddess" she stumbled and fell against the wall. Her whole body seized up, muscles going tight and twisting as a sudden gout of pain lanced through her. "Fuck me, oh gods this hurts."

"It will wear off" he promised. "Eventually."

Pushing the door open, he led her into the fort's courtyard.

Maia might have cried, if she had the strength.

The dead were everywhere.

The lines of dead stretched across the back wall, six deep. Some were covered, most weren't. There were not enough blankets to cover them all. Their bodies were hacked to pieces, butchered, torn to shreds. In the middle of the lines, she saw the standout, plate-armored form of Marc. Right beside it was a slimmer, dark-haired man with an archer's build.

"No" she whimpered. Her legs gave out, and she slid down to her knees. "Gods, no!"

Dozens of mercenaries were still removing the dead. Mercenary bodies were being pulled from the field, dragged over to join the growing pile of dead waiting to be sorted. Others carried the hulking corpses of orcs and demons up to the wall and tipped them over. It looked as if they had been working for hours, and the grounds were still more than half covered.

"From what I gathered, Marc led a countercharge to hold the orcs back. It didn't last. By the time we arrived, the barracks was under siege."

"How many?"

"Four hundred and sixty three."

The number came out so casually, so vicious and uncaring, that Maia's eyes watered. This was all her own fault. What had she done?

"Diane?"

"Alive. She held the gatehouse with Surefoot's archers during the battle."

"Say it" Maia grunted. Her jaw shook with the effort of holding it closed. Heat stung her cheeks, and she felt the tears building behind her eyes.

"What?" He leaned against one of the wooden posts, one hand stuffed in a pocket. The other fished a finger-long stick from his jacket and lit it against the post. The odorous reek of narcotics spilled from it.

"That I failed. That I didn't listen to you." She bit her tongue for a moment, fighting to form the right words. "That I am a fucking fool!"

"And what would the point of that be?" Louk eyed her down the length of his nose. He took a long drag from the stick, and exhaled a dark cloud.

"I argued against you" Maia pressed. "I called you a liar and a fool. You told me this would happen, and I didn't believe you. None of this would have happened if I hadn't fought so hard against you!"

"Maybe." He managed to offer a shrug despite one shoulder being pressed against the post. "Maybe not."

"Godsdamn it" Maia snarled. She leapt to her feet, rounding on him in a fit of anger. "I got everyone killed. Tell me that, Louk! Don't give me that patronizing bullshit. This was all my fault!"

He turned his head to avoid blowing smoke in her face.

"So why would I tell you what you already know? Truth of it is, Maia, I expected this to happen. I said it in Ken, and I'll repeat it here. None of you are prepared for the creature that took Vult and his men. If it hadn't been you, someone else would have opened the gate. Or maybe it would happen elsewhere on the border. But it would have happened. You screwed up, but I'd rather have you be the one to do it than someone else. You've got skills, Maia. You killed a champion of the daemon. That is something that very, very few I've met here could do."

"That was more luck than anything" she admitted.

"Luck is just as important as skill, in times of war." He interrupted himself with another drag. "Besides, no one benefits from me telling you that you failed. That ship has sailed. Would the dead come back to life if I called you a failure? Would you be able to turn back time and undo your mistake if I kicked you while you are down? What matters is what you are going to do next."

"I… I don't know." Her tiredness crashed back down on her, and Maia realized just how exhausted she was.

"That is for you to choose" Louk told her. He gestured over the dead with his stick. "Take this, all this in."

She did, turning to look over the dead. Her hands curled into painful fists at her sides, nails digging deep into her skin. "I won't let this happen again."

"No. You won't." The man offered a subtle nod. "I know you think I'm an ass. Everyone does. They hate me, they mistrust me. I accept that. Now do you understand why, though?"

"I wish I could say yes" Maia murmured. She leaned against the opposite post. "But I really don't. I… what were they Polso and his men. They were…"

"Something this world has never seen before" Louk finished. Maia could have sworn she caught something close to approval in his eyes. He resumed puffing on his stick. "Explain the sky to me."

"...what?" She glanced over at him, curiosity overcoming her exhaustion.

"Tell me what the sky is like. Assume I don't know anything."

"Well, um, it's… blue. The clouds are long but far between. Sun is… why?"

He flicked ash of the end of the stick and tossed the stub. "If I had never seen the sky before, that description would have been useless. What's the sun? What's a cloud?"

"How the hell could you not know what the sun is?"

"How the hell could you not know what a daemon is" he shot back at her, devoid of malice, or scorn. The patronizing tone stung, but Maia could not bring herself to be angry about it. She deserved worse than Louk Shannegh's wrath.

"I think I get it" she mumbled.

"Probably not. This shit took me decades to figure out, and I was neck deep in it the entire time." The Reaper slid off the post and picked her swords up from the floorboards. Maia hadn't even noticed them lying just outside the door. Offering them hilt first, he nodded. "So what's your plan now?"

"I need to make this right."

"How?" Again, his tone was flat and emotionless. "What could you possibly do to replace the dead, repair the trust of your peers and subordinates?"

"I don't know!" Maia accepted her blades and sheathed them. "Would you know?"

"Personal experience?" He shook his head. "Once that trust is broken, it's gone. I'd wager you don't have much chance of getting that back from the ones that survived here. It really doesn't matter, though. The dead will be buried. Their families will probably hate you, but that's what families are for. Your best bet is to look to the future."

"But they all died. How do I make that right?"

"Fuck the dead."

"What?" She gaped, aghast at his words.

"They're dead. It's not like they'll follow you around. Best thing to do is go after the bastards that made them dead." He hesitated, a spark flickering across his eyes. She wasn't sure to make of that, but her skin prickled at the sudden scrutiny he regarded her with.

"You're a terrible person" she complained.

"You have no idea" He replied. "Tell me something, Maia. This war that's coming. It won't be fought entirely on the front lines. When _Virtuoso_ comes, it won't be just the clamor of armies. It is insidious; it sends spies and corruption as its vanguard. That is where I will have to be. Eostia can build an army that might hold against the monsters of Garan. That's not where the real danger comes from. It will attempt to corrupt these lands, turn people against each other, and rot Eostia from inside its own borders."

"Is what what it is called, then? Virtuoso?"

"That is the name I know it by."

"Spies," she sighed. "The Black Dogs?"

"The daemon does not need mortal flesh to spread its will. It preys on dreams and dark secrets."

"We can't stop people from dreaming" Maia noted dourly.

"Yep." He chuckled softly. It was not a nice sound, rather like a boar drowning in a pond. "I have decided I will be putting a team together. Nasty work, hard work, hunting down spies and countering _Virtuoso's_ efforts. I'd reckon your military career isn't much after this mess. Before you go off to drown yourself in misery and stale alcohol, thought I'd offer you a job."

"You want _me_ to join you?" She let out a bitter laugh. "I am a failure."

"Celeste saw something in you. And your blade skills are impressive enough. I don't need commanders, Maia. I need soldiers. People that will do what they're told, no questions asked. This," he gestured over the field of dead, "has given a clear enough picture of that. It won't be easy, of course. And I won't be allowing slack or showing favoritism. You'll hate working for me, I guarantee it. By the end of it, you will despise me, hate me with every fiber of your being for what I will make you do."

"That isn't much of a pitch." She slumped down to sit against the post. Staring at the dirt between her feet, she picked up a splinter of wood the size of her finger and turned it over.

"Do not mistake me" he warned. The edge in his voice crept back, that sharp, merciless edge that set her hair on end and released the floodgates of her adrenaline. It was an utterly dangerous sound. "I am not promising you redemption. That is not my purpose. My one and only task is to hurl the bastard _Virtuoso_ back into the hell it comes from. The job will be vile, dirty, and without honor."

"Doubt I have much of that left" Maia grumbled. She filcked the splinter away and rested her head against the post. The tightness in her gut had not receded. "Who else have you picked?"

"Counting you… yep."

"I should feel honored, I think." No matter how she twisted, stretched, or prodded, the pain did not fade in her side. Nor did it grow worse, she realized with some dread. The wound was nothing natural, that was certain. And while Louk Shannegh gave no sign of knowing what it could be, Maia had no doubts that the man was unaware of the nature of the wound. That information would not come freely, though.

"You should feel terrified" he countered. "Though, to be fair, your refusing to die is why I even consider it. Eostia is small, hardly enough to maintain a real army. My choices are limited, and my ability to take those that meet my standards even moreso. Claudia would be a good choice, I should think. But this land needs her to command the war effort."

"So I am expendable?"

Her face was turned away from him; she still felt the cruel grin that started to form on his face before he quashed it. He said nothing, of course. He was not here to pour salt on her wounds. The pathetic fishing for pity struck her as wrong, childishly so. That angered her, and again she cursed herself for having survived this disaster of her own making.

"Six hundred and forty three" she whispered, committing the number to memory. "That's how many lives I owe that bastard."

"Sure" Louk agreed. His lack of enthusiasm rang clearly.

"I'll do it" she announced.

His hand hovered just in the corner of her vision. She accepted the offer and rose, steadying herself with his sturdy frame. The grim look on his face took her by surprise for a moment. In truth, she had expected him to show triumph or condescension in her acceptance. Instead, there was just… determination.

"Prepare yourself, Maia. We leave at noon."

Giving her a surprisingly gentle pat on the shoulder, he eased past her and strode off towards the outer wall. Maia stared after him, then glanced to the sky to gauge the time.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere that isn't here" he called over his shoulder.

"What are we going to be called?"

Louk Shanneh stopped, and Maia swore his shoulders tensed at the reasonable question. Turning on his heel, the man called Reaper regarded her with an irritated glare.

"What?"

"We'll have a name, then? I'm not going to just call myself your lackey."

His next words were nearly silent grumbles, and Louk dropped his gaze to stare at the ground. Maia might have imagined the exasperation in his unheard tone. Then again, he might have merely been aggravated by her asking questions. His orders had been given. There wasn't a need to keep talking.

"The what" she asked, straining to hear.

"The bloody Inquisition!"


	16. Fortune Favors the Bold

**A/N: Due to being insanely busy, I'll be dropping down to shorter chapters for a while to make sure I can keep this story rolling for you guys. Also, I just started a Dark Heresy campaign for some buddies. Session 1 they're already trying to defect to the Tau Empire. #AirConditioning**

 **Reviewers-  
FrancisVamp0822- **"Bloody" was more of an expletive added to the name, but yes. The Inquisition's back in town! Let the reign of executed innocents commence!  
 **ManwithaPlan113-** Yes, he will investigate people with his sword.  
 **Ronmr** \- heehee  
 **Guest-** Eh, if you think about it, the average 40k Imperial citizens is Lawful Extremely Evil... When put in a Lawful Stupid setting, you'd expect some rough edges  
 **Vatican Templar-** YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA  
 **Lorenzo98-** I mean, I understand the frustration. But imagine how much more powerful it is going to be when she had a "Come to the God-Emperor" moment.  
 **EvilMagicman-** It was less nonchalant and more unproductive. A good Inquisitor if all about efficiency. Ragging on her fuck-up would have been inefficient. That being said, that doesn't mean he's cutting her any slack. Also, that episode was utter trash. It was just... bleh and meh.  
 **FleeingReality-** I absolutely cannot promise any happy endings. But... maybe.  
 **Disciple of Ember-** He certainly has changed a lot in [indeterminate time]. One of the big concepts I was wrestling with in the idea of immortality of a character is how utterly brutal those first couple hundred years would be, when you have to adjust to everyone you know dying. I'd imagine the option would be either go insane with heartache or develop a cold and uncaring attitude. At the beginning, at least. Louk had obviously evolved, and going forward you might notice the reflection of his mentor in his actions.  
 **Sigma-del-Prisium-** NOBODY expects the Inquisition! Our chief weapon is surprise...surprise and fear...fear and surprise... I'll come in again  
 **Danteinfernus-** Redemption stories aren't in store for everyone, but give Alicia some slack. She'll have her moment.  
 **Guest 2-** I mean, Kuroinu is an H-game. That's the reason all the knights are female. As for "real cultural" aspect, I'll delve into it more over time. There'll be some knowledge drops throughout the story.  
 **Abdiel Amaro-** Whaaaaaaaa? A harem from an H-game? Say it ain't so!  
 **SomeGuyOverHere-** I initially was going to let her die early on, but realized that'd be a waste of a potentially amazing character. All of the Shields (even Alicia) have so much potential it's hard to find the right way for things to go for them. Lining up the plot and timing on this is a bitch. As for dead characters, haven't you read TWiF, lol. EREBODY DIES! And yes, 40k daemons bleed... sort of. Generally their corpses are pulled back into the Warp, but daemons always leave corruption behind them, whether through changing the world around them or actual bits that remain behind. Blood in particular does tend to stay behind, as well as some parts here and there can be left behind if separated. Since daemons are creatures of the Immaterium, their physical forms are just a shell, and elements of that can be left behind.  
 **StaffSergeant-** Glad you like it! I'm still rooting for you!  
 **Kaldor Draigo-** The Superest of Warpiness!  
 **Fyodor Karamazov-** heehee  
 **TheMightyMorgoth-** Warhammer Fantasy is amazing! Love the lore, and they have some real good fanfics. Figuring out how to write Slaanesh stuff well is a lot of fun, and a challenge. Sigvald is a great idea. Will definitely hunt down some of his lore/books. I know I've read up on him in the past, but haven't gotten any of his books. I try hard to respond to people because it encourages me to keep working on stuff, and I like making sure people know I pay attention. The grammatical issues are generally from Google Drive being dumb of me writing in the passenger seat of a car on long drives, and the lack of internet on the road makes Drive lose its mind on spellcheck. Glad you like it!

 **Have a great day!**

* * *

 **Mourning Woods, Rad**

Maia found she preferred Louk Shannegh's unfeeling and unfriendly conversation to his monstrous silence. The border fort was two days behind them, and already the battle felt a fading memory, a tortured nightmare that clawed at the edges of her awareness. Even the lingering pain of her wound had faded to a dull ache she tuned out in all but the most quiet moments. The sight of the dead would never leave her. She knew that with terrifying certainty. It should not. Each death demanded a measure of blood spilled in recompense. And she would have it. Before leaving the fort, Maia had sworn an oath of vengeance on the dark power of Garan. The names of all six hundred and forty three dead filled a pristine bandage, wrapped carefully in a pouch on her belt. She would claim a demon's life for each of the fallen. That was her oath.

Never again would she allow herself to fail.

Her riding partner knew of the oath. Whether or not Louk Shannegh approved of it did not bother her in the slightest. On saddling up alongside her, his eyes had drawn unerringly to the pouch, but he had not said a word. His mouth tightened in a grimace, that was all. Maia perhaps might have preferred him to say something, but knowing the man, mayhaps it was for the best. Louk Shannegh was not a man of flowery words and romantic gestures. He would tell her it was foolish.

The more time she spent in his presence, the less human he appeared. He ate little, slept less. In two days he had uttered only four words. Rest. Water. Rest. Soon. As a companion, he left much to be desired. Even so, it was hardly something deserving of complaint. If this were the worst of her self-imposed penance, Maia would have cried every night in shame.

Content to study his figure in the long hours of silent riding, Maia devoted her attention to memorizing the person that was Louk Shannegh.

He was tall, almost lanky in build. His omnipresent cloak hid the details of his form, but she knew the man had lean muscle to spare. In duel with Vult he had held his own blade-to-blade, which few men could claim. But he was so very lean. A scrapper's build. Maia wondered if he had grown up on the streets. He had the ragged build of an urchin, a survivor. She recognized a few of the telling traits, too. His ever-alert gaze, taking in his surroundings as if expecting the constables to come charging from any tree. The lightness of his step, wary of creaking floorboards. How he slept with his back to a tree, or a rock, or some solid surface. It could have been from any number of learned habits or backgrounds, but Maia sensed a faint kinship. It was something she would never have considered, or given credence to, before the border fort. When she stripped away her prejudices, Maia had to ask herself: were they really that different?

The simple answer was yes, of course they were. Louk Shannegh was a cruel, heartless man. It did not matter his intentions. Good and evil meant little to him. Results mattered; the ends justifying the means. That weighted darkness about him had more to it than simple desire or will. A glimpse of the true nature of Louk Shannegh revealed itself in the aftermath of the border fort. The real true nature, not what she had stubbornly insisted on back in Ken. Though, truth be told, Maia had not been far from the truth of the man.

Louk Shannegh was an evil man.

For her own standards, at least. For Eostia's standards. But Eostia, Maia realized, was a land of peace and serenity compared to whatever hellscape Louk Shannegh had come from. A man who spoke of hundreds dead with little care, or commented on unnatural horrors with such confidence, that man was not a force of good. No good person could look over the bodies of so many fallen heroes and keep cheeks dry. No good person could condone the deaths of so many as an unavoidable loss, a calculated risk in a terrible war.

His was a character molded by suffering and hardship. His spirit, hardened by loss and death and horrors. His will clad in impregnable steel wrought in the fires of hell and fury. No, the man who rode ahead of her was no product of natural inclinations. His attitude, his character, it was the product of an uncared-for life, an unnurturing existence. From such things were born the cruelest of men.

Louk Shannegh was an evil man. But he was the man that Eostia needed.

Maia cursed Vult for his arrogance. She cursed Louk Shannegh for letting Vult go into Garan. She cursed herself for not fleeing the capitol and accompanying them. Falling at Vult's side would have spared her the horrible mistake of that had cost so many good lives.

It hurt the most that Louk Shannegh knew her thoughts. The man had the way about him, that unspoken acknowledgement that he understood her inner thoughts, her pain. And he said nothing. Not a word of comfort, or a snapping insult. Just silence. Just that damned, monstrous silence. The silence that promised freedom from judgment, because he considered her unworthy of such attention. The silence of condescension, of disdain and dismissal.

The fact that he did not need words to make her feel tiny and insignificant brutalized her confidence.

Her pride would not have allowed that, in the past. Pride had always been a great weakness, exploitable and irrational. Maia wondered if she could ever regain that sense of unimpeachable surety ever again. She did not know if she wanted that. Pride had blinded her, had forced her hand into a witless decision. Pride had set her hand to the deaths of her fellow warriors.

Once broken, pride healed slowly. Maia did not fear that sense of invincibility to return any time soon. Under the shadow of Louk Shannegh, she doubted it could ever be restored. That suited her just fine. Promotion to the Shields had come… unexpectedly. Truly, it had caught the whole of Eostia off guard. After the fall of Griselle the Maidenshield, many had expected Celeste to break the tradition of female-only Shields and take Vult as her mercenary Shield. The role itself would never change; Maia knew that. There had been much greater candidates for the position than her.

Hearing the offer from Celeste herself had set Maia's heart soaring so high it had never come back down. That righteous justification, the confirmation of her talent and skill, and clouded her mind and filled her head with thoughts of unimpeachable rightness. It had blinded her. Maia's greatest mistake had been to accept the offer. She should have turned it down, insisted the title of Shield go to a more deserving commander.

After all, wasn't it every girl's dream to be a Shield of Celeste? To serve as a general of Eostia, a paragon chosen by the Goddess Reborn herself. That had been the lynchpin, the reason Maia could never have dreamed of denying the opportunity. To do so would have been… blasphemous.

Celeste did not make mistakes. She had chosen Maia for a reason. Sometimes her reasons took years to bear fruit; her plans spanned decades. What had Celeste's plan been for Maia? The mercenary queen dreaded the thought that she had failed her unknown task.

Louk Shannegh eased his horse to a stop, nosing it to the side of the road. Coming up alongside him, Maia gazed past at the distant wooden walls of Rad's capitol city. The falling light of dusk spilled over its tall walls, wooden battlements that three men could stand in line on to repel invaders. Beyond the walls were the sprawling ghettos, wildly-built districts that merged and clashed as each struggled to expand and fill the ever growing population.

Bold Fortune, it was called. A city of raucous history and rough people, it had as wild an appearance as the citizens that lived in its shadow. No grand architect, or even a series of, had designed the city of Bold Fortune. The city grew and expanded as needed, stretching in every and any direction. Law and order were fondly dreamt of ideals, but no one ruler owned the city of Bold Fortune, nor did any form of law hold ultimate authority.

Instead, the Merchant Guild ran Rad. Twelve of the most powerful merchants in Eostia had separated the city generations ago, each pledging to rule their territory in favor of the inhabitants. A mere five families remained of the original dozen, the rest having been slain or driven out by intrigue and assassinations. The families Mandeville, Holgstrom, Caltrain, Reste, and Yesef controlled Bold Fortune now. Beneath those, interspersed like weeds in a garden, the two Grand Clans of VarGolem and Spearo ruled the roiling criminal underworld. It was a seedy place, mostly lawless, with local militias protecting their own turf as the Merchant Guild engaged in its own subtle duels of power.

One could always find mercenaries in Bold Fortune. Ever mercenary company worth anything had recruiting offices in each capitol city, but Rad drew special attention. The rough nature of the city raised bruisers and scavengers. The Black Dogs in particular recruited whole neighborhoods, some joked. Hundreds of men every year joined the Black Dog ranks from Bold Fortune. Mercenary work was always to be found here, and there were always more bodies waiting to fulfill the contracts.

Maia loved Bold Fortune. The wildness of it excited her. Here was a place she could rub shoulders with any kind of person. A place where she always fit in and could find a good time, whether in drinking or brawling. Many of her friends had been met in Bold Fortune.

Now she looked on the city and only felt a tingle of dread. The cold mask her companion wore as he surveyed the city told her that their visit would not end pleasantly. She could not imagine what the man intended. But she knew it would end poorly.

"Bold Fortune" he muttered, spitting out the name of the city as if he tasted spoiled gunpowder.

"My second home" Maia noted.

His free hand drifted up to rub his chest. Or so he made it appear. Maia knew he had something hidden in a pocket inside his coat. Somethings, she corrected. Tiny little green gems, jagged and rough. In the brief glimpse she had stolen, Maia could have sworn the rocks glowed. Louk Shannegh had pulled them from the corpses of Polso and his men. Ever since taking them, his mood had turned downright sour.

"What's wrong?" She eyed him curiously, seeking some hint as to his thoughts. As always, his expression gave nothing away. The man reminded her of a golem far too often. A false-man, animated only when his spirit felt the need to share such feelings.

"Nothing" Louk replied.

A shiver crawled up her spine. He made it sound like an execution sentence.

 **-v-**

 **White Citadel, Capitol of Ken**

Olga resisted the urge to drum her fingers on the polished oak table. Restlessness tickled at her mind; the urge to go and do… something, anything… clawed. Sitting in the White Citadel for days on end was not something to complain over, in truth this outcome had proved beyond her most hopeful dreams. Louk Shannegh's assistance had saved her. Now that she had seen it for herself, she knew that Celeste had never intended harm or death for her. Her high elf friend was too kind a soul to do something like that. That weakness would endanger them all, she knew.

Still, she had only time on her hands, and nothing to fill it with. The first days had been full enough, certainly. Meetings and audiences had kept her busy. None occurred without Celeste by her side, of course. Despite all of the Goddess' attempts to distract her from the undeniable truth of it, Olga was a prisoner. Of a sort, at least. A political prisoner was the best comparison. Guards remained at the exits to the floor, and Olga lacked the ability to walk freely. Celeste assured her that the measures were for her own protection. Olga partially believed it. More than a few of the floor guards eyed her with unrestrained hatred. Chloe's presence alone gave her comfort.

As silly as it sounded, she missed Louk Shannegh. The man's darkness, while oppressive, had its own appeal. It fell on her like a smothering blanket, but in the uncertain times they faced, Olga found that as security. That, and power exuded from the man. Even Claudia Levantine, the greatest of the Shields and one of the two… no, now she was _the_ most powerful warriors in Eostia, feared him. His skill and savage power impressed her. She even dared to admit that it excited her. With Louk Shannegh by her side, nothing could endanger her.

That admission heated her cheeks with shame. Reaching inwards, she sought out the faded spark that guttered in her soul. Ever since leaving Garan, her power had continued to sputter and weaken. Her staff had been taken from her; it had pained Celeste to order it seized, but the necessity of it could not be denied. Olga was still the enemy, in a sense, and her staff was a weapon of great power. Even so, without her staff, she could barely summon the energy for even simple spells. The toll of the Greenwyrd had finished her. She did not want to say it aloud. To do so would be to confirm her worst fears. But it was there, nonetheless.

Her powers were going to vanish entirely in less than a year.

The gentle massage of an ivory comb swept through her hair again, distracting her moody thoughts. Chloe's skillful fingers guided the comb with the same dexterity she applied her daggers in a fight. This part of her morning routine always soothed her. Elves were sensual creatures, that was just a fact of existence. Their senses were greater than a human's by far, and rivaled most any other race in sensitivity. Simple physical chores like combing hair or scrubbing skin could be painful, if done poorly, but absolutely exquisite if performed by a skilled hand. Chloe had the hands of an artist. Perhaps she would have been one, had her life led a different path. Regardless, the half-elf insisted on taking care of Olga in such basic and menial tasks. It was not something Olga had sought from Chloe. Chloe had insisted on it ever since being rescued from the bastard human that had owned her.

In her own way, Olga knew, Chloe considered Olga her owner. The slave-born mentality was not broken easily, if at all. It pained her to see the half-elf so slavishly devoted to her, even if Chloe enjoyed and even celebrated Olga's commands. Perhaps here in Ken, free of the dangers of the demons and surrounded by others, that would be broken. Chloe needed to see that life was worth more than service.

In the past, the young half-elf sometimes hummed a tune or asked questions when they did this. The combination of touch and sound relaxed her wonderfully. Today, and for the past few days, however, Chloe made no sound. Her touch was rigid, tense. Her strokes short and unappealing. It was not just the morning routine, either. Ever since the day of the Grand Convocation, the half-elf's demeanor had grown suspiciously uneasy. Something had occurred to unnerve her, and Olga's best efforts had not uncovered the root of it.

There were few things she could think of that could dull Chloe's shine. The young woman had a ferocious spirit, unquenchable in the misery of Garan and the company of demons. Her disdain for humans and males of any kind might have amused Olga had she not known Chloe's past. Something had chipped at her resolve, though. Something had pierced her defenses and left her rattled.

If someone had harmed her, Olga would bring hell as vengeance.

"Your hair is so beautiful" Chloe whispered, voice mild and reverent. The statement caught Olga by surprise. The half-elf had never mentioned something like that before. In fact, Chloe had never mentioned anything about her appearance at all. From time to time she gave compliments to Olga, but never for something like that.

"Thank you, Chloe."

Silence fell again, and Olga stared ahead, pondering the unexpected declaration from her companion. When Chloe finished, she stepped back and picked up a handheld mirror. Offering the piece for Olga's inspection, the young half-elf bowed deeply, hiding her face as her blonde locks spilled downwards.

As always, Chloe had straightened Olga's hair impeccably. Allowing a moment to admire her work, Olga ran her fingers through her flowing hair. It reached down to her thighs now, uncut for many years. In a few more years it would become impractical, but she treasured it for now. Her hair was one of the few points of pride she allowed. Lustrous and soft, it had often been compared to silk in her youth. A smile crept onto her face at the memories of those times.

"Do I please you" Chloe asked, watching Olga with anticipation. Why, the sorceress did not know. Chloe had never disappointed her. Olga doubted the young half-elf ever could. Loyalty meant more to her than anything, and Chloe had that as well as earnestness.

"You are the only one I would trust with my hair" Olga told her.

"There are none worthy of touching it" Chloe declared, dropping to a knee. The half-elf clasped a hand over her heart. "I am honored to serve you, my queen."

"Chloe…"

It did not matter how many times Olga reminded the young woman. Queen no longer. Perhaps it would stick, in time, but the stubborn loyalty Chloe showed could not be dissuaded from insisting on the past-honorific.

Her thoughts on the matter vanished in an instant, replaced with stunned horror when hot tears sprouted on Chloe's cheeks.

"Chloe!"

"I cannot stand you being treated this way!" A sob burst from the half-elf's throat; her whole body shivered as tears spilled down her face. "Please, my queen. Give me the command to free you and lead us away from here. It is not safe for you."

Shocked into silence, Olga could only gaze down at the young one's tearstained face. Her chest tightened as surely as if an ogre had her in its grip. Slowly, she cupped Chloe's face in her hands. The half-elf nuzzled into her palms, mewling whimpers spilling from her lips.

"What happened, Chloe?"

"I cannot protect you here" Chloe murmured. Her head turned upwards, and she fixed Olga with begging eyes.

"Celeste will not let harm come to me" Olga assured the half-elf. Pulling gently, she guided Chloe closer. Easing Chloe's head into her lap, Olga stroked her hair. "We are safer here than anywhere. Do you trust me, Chloe?"

Unable to bring herself to speak, Chloe nodded against her leg. Harsh, shuddering breaths wracked the half-elf's tiny frame. Olga tugged at the end of her sleeve and drew it loose. Padding gently at Chloe's cheek, Olga wiped her tears away.

"I would give my life for you" Chloe whispered, her voice muffled against the fabric of Olga's skirt.

"I don't want you to die for me" Olga assured her. "I want you to live for me. Can you do that, Chloe? We are safe, safer than we were in Garan, safer than we would be outside the walls of Ken. Set your mind at ease, my child. There are none here that can harm us."

It took some time for Chloe to compose herself. Waiting patiently, Olga turned her thoughts elsewhere, beyond the simple confines of her room. Something had spooked the half-elf. Someone had scared her. Her jaw tightened at the thought, brows furrowing in a dark, fiery rage. The primal savageness of the emotion surprised Olga, yet at the same time it struck her as justly fitting. Chloe was the closest thing to a daughter she had ever had.

When Louk Shannegh returned, Olga had a mission for him.

 **-v-**

The halls seemed so empty now.

Six days had passed since Celeste had sent out Louk Shannegh to the border fort, half the mercenaries of Ken's garrison in tow. Since then, she had received a single report: the border for had nearly been lost, and the garrison had been savaged by treachery and unnatural foes. The details were sparse. Celeste knew that Louk Shannegh would give her more information when he returned.

Only Claudia remained in Ken, now. Kaguya had returned to Thorn, insisting that she needed to prepare her people for the war to come. Alicia and Prim would both be back in Feoh now, and Luu-Luu had headed to Ansur to finish raising her army. That left Maia. The messenger from the border fort claimed that Louk Shannegh had tasked Maia to accompany him on a trip to Rad. Why, she did not know. Perhaps she did not need to know, or maybe even it was better he did not tell her. The man worked in strange, and admittedly unconscionable ways. The purpose of his visit to Rad would find her ears soon enough.

In the meantime, Celeste had a duty to attend her people. They would all need words of comfort in the days ahead. By now, the rumors of the lost Black Dogs army would have spread to most of Ken. The loss of tens of thousands of soldiers alone could cause mass panic. Such a thing would be dangerous even in times of peace. She needed to head off any chance of discord, and fill the hearts of her people with hope.

To that end, she had summoned Archbishop Grishom to council. His leadership of the clergy would prove most useful. In her private thoughts, Celeste did not care for the Church of the Goddess Reborn. In her eyes, Celeste had been born to serve the people of Eostia, not the other way around. But there was no getting around it; the people worshipped her, and the Church of the Goddess Reborn had formed on its own. To denounce the sect of her worship would be selfish. So she tolerated it, and kept an eye on the workings of the clergy who preached in her name.

Now he sat before her, with Cardinal Sowl by his side. Opposite the clergy, Claudia Levantine pored over the latest recruitment reports. Work had plagued her non-stop since taking command of the armies of Eostia. Armies. That word tasted bitter on her tongue. There were no armies to speak of. The task before Claudia was to create one; the order was monumental in scope. To that end, she had applied herself tirelessly. Heralds had been sent to every region, tasked with drumming up recruits and organizing each region's local defenses. A steady stream of messengers came to, and left from, her office every day.

"It is not a matter of tithes raised" Claudia argued, leaning back from her reading. Pinching the bridge of her nose to ease the strain of an oncoming headache, the Knight Levantine sighed. "All the gold in Eostia won't create an army. We need men, Archbishop. You could promise ten thousand swords, but I need people to hold them."

Her challenge caused a dark glower from both clergymen. Grishom's offer of money from the Church coffers was, in honesty, a flat gesture. His church possessed as much wealth as Sir John Mandeville. It was no small rumor that the two of them could buy the entirety of Eostia, should they desire it. Ordinarily, such a thing might have bothered Celeste. Grishom was no angel; his moral compass left room for improvement, but there were few men Celeste could trust in such a powerful position. Better a man like Grishom who hoarded wealth than a tyrant.

"You seem to mistake the holy Church as source of soldiers" Grishom complained. "I lead priests, monks, nuns. We do not fight."

"No" Claudia agreed, "but you do tend to the masses. Have your priests encourage their congregations! This war that is coming, we need every trained body I can get my hands on. You tell the people what they are fighting for, who they are fighting for, and bring me recruits."

The thought of so many simple farmers marching to war with newly forged blades and half-fitted armor turned her stomach. The thought of so many giving their lives filled her with dread. Swallowing her disgust, Celeste eyed the clergymen for their response. Aware of her attention, Grishom spent several long seconds pondering how to reply.

"You would send farmers and tradesmen to die? What becomes of the families they leave behind? What becomes of Feoh, when there are none left to harvest the fields? How can we take our working people from necessary work?"

"If we do not contain and drive back the demons of Garan, those same workers will be butchered in their fields. Should they die holding the demons at bay in the mountains, or die as the demons crash through their doors to butcher their families?" Claudia's ire was rising again. Her patience had suffered from the constant stream of work. Bandying words with bureaucrats did not sit highly on her list of preferred things to do.

"The cooperation of the Church is paramount to our survival" Celeste interjected, giving Claudia a moment to catch her breath before her temper rose further. "And the people of Eostia have a right to know the dangers they face. I humbly ask, Archbishop Grishom, that you turn the sermons of your clergy to messages of heroism, of strength. Regardless of the state of our forces, the people need to be assured that they do not stand alone."

"Aye, that we can do" Grishom muttered, his glare remaining fixed on Claudia. "It is no simple thing to ask the commonfolk to leave their families."

"Nor should it be" Celeste agreed. "But in times of great darkness, the light of hope burns brightest."

"Better they take up arms with courage and honor than be dragged out in conscription" Claudia added. "If I cannot raise suitable numbers, I will be forced to resort to such."

"It is a grave sin to force a man from his livelihood" Cardinal Sowl snapped.

"War is no place for highbrowed morality" the Knight Commander snarled, slamming her fist on the table. The Cardinal flinched at the venom in her tone. "Do not dare to lecture me on sin and war. You've never set foot on a battlefield, Sowl!"

"Claudia" Celeste whispered, silencing her friend. "Please, Sowl, there is a time to mourn the actions that must be taken for our land to be defended. We must pray that the sins we commit to defend our homes may be washed away by the innocence of the lives that celebrate those sacrifices. Archbishop Grishom, will you please task your clergy?"

"Yes, my Goddess" Grishom agreed, tearing his gaze away from Claudia. His troubled countenance faded, and he could not help but offer a meek expression. "We will do as you command. Tomorrow morning, I will send brothers throughout the lands with instruction. May their words fill the hearts of the people with hope."

"And bring me stout arms to wield swords" Claudia muttered still scowling.


	17. Rise and Fall

**A/N: It's been far too long since my last update. In apology, got a longer chapter for you. Hope you all enjoy it. Here begins the second part of the story.**

 **Reviewers-  
DJatomica69**\- Oh, their Interrogator got assassinated (they think). It's glorious. They are panicking, because they are stuck at a Tau outpost pretending to be mercenaries, and trying to figure out how to not end up dead.  
 **Danteinfernus** \- Heehee. I think Maia has suffered enough for a couple chapters.  
 **ManwithaPlan113** \- Value the lives of the peasants? That's a thing? But they could die for the Emperor!  
 **Guest** \- I didn't say LE was BAD, I just said it was standard Imperial procedure. And yes, Olga has a job for her... for Louk. lol  
 **Disciple of Ember** \- Don't forget, I went 6 months without updating TWIF. This is just a hot streak I am barely holding onto. Maia will certainly see some growth going forwards. And Claudia compared to Penance made a lot of sense once you mentioned it. Hadn't intentionally pictured it, but it fits really well. The Shields really needed a strategist, and she always struck me as the most 'competent' possibility. His relationship with numerous peoples has room for potential, but Louk is a very different Louk than he used to be. Except for the excessive murder-and-revenge. That will be just as brutal.  
 **SomeGuyOverHere** \- She was losing her powers in the actual setting. I figured it would make more sense for her to be depowered, because without her magic she's just a dark elf. less of a threat and easier to explain away her presence. Also, it makes for better character development. And yes, the clergy. They will learn the folly of their ways. As for my RPG group, none are psykers. They didn't want to risk it.  
 **TheMightyMorgoth** \- Warrior Priests might happen, but it won't be common. I do love that image/idea though. Always liked that part of the Empire. 

**Introducing a couple new characters in this one. Technically a "crossover," but not really. Do spinoffs count as crossovers?**

* * *

 **Long Way Pub, Bold Fortune**

It was a good day at the Long Way Pub. Customers came and went, coin passed, and so far there had only been the one fight. For an ordinary day, she counted it as quite mild. Usually by now they'd have had a patrol of town guard in, busting heads and dragging out some criminal or other, or perhaps a mercenary team snatching up a bounty-jumper. To have only one fight, and all in such good spirits, that was a blessing.

The Long Way Pub had protection from anything truly unpleasant, of course. Unlike most of their neighbors, their pub enjoyed the special attentions of the VarGolem family. A low-ranking officer could always be found in ear's reach, and the few times a ruckus occurred, it would last for mere minutes before a whole gang of the VarGolem thugs descended on the place and sorted out the offenders. The damages were never reimbursed, of course, but that was to be expected. It was a good thing Ian knew his woodwork. Nearly every day he had to repair a chair or table, if not several.

She grinned softly at the thought of her stoic husband, who at this very moment slaved away at fixing a table the early morning drunks had upended; the central leg had cracked, and Ian was busy replacing the whole leg. It was unappetizing work, and she loved him for it. Had they been anything else, had fate not brought them together in one of the rare moments of a made match proving true, Anna knew that she and Ian would have been fast friends. The man combined the right balance of gentleness, manliness, and jealousy that kept her heart singing in the day and her lips moaning in the night.

"Another" one of her customers roared, his face cherry red. Bleary eyes gazed about, searching fruitlessly for her golden hair amidst the forest of heads moving about the bar. Anna noted the man's face, counted his tab in her head, and decided to allow him another. He was a regular, though she could not place his name. Rarely rowdy, always paid his debt in full of every week. Grabbing a clean mug, she filled it to the proper point and played the mug to build an even, frothy layer.

The old man whistled, or at least he tried to, as she set the mug down for him. "Yer a godzzend" he slurred. Swiping awkwardly at the mug, he sent it sliding a few inches. It nearly sailed off the counter, but Anna caught it with practiced ease and turned, carefully holding it at bay so the sloshing beer did not spill on her dress.

"Careful now" she cooed, setting it back down before the man. Taking his wrinkled, calloused hands, she guided them to the mug and gave him an encouraging pat. "Spilled drinks aren't free, you know."

The man's neighbors laughed at the man's slackjawed expression. One reached out to catch her arm, but Anna nimbly stepped back and out of the way. The men here weren't bad, mostly. Apart from a few wandering hands, they kept their distance and offered more respect than she would have expected in a place like Bold Fortune. Perhaps it was because she displayed her wedding band prominently, or perhaps because the locals all knew the VarGolem gang kept tabs on the place. Or maybe it was because Ian had thrown more than a few amorous fools out of the Long Way Pub before. Regardless, she knew better than to entertain; a drunk was still a drunk. Alcohol overcame the most sensibly dispositions.

Hurrying back down to the other end, Anna smoothed her skirt and went back to cleaning. It was a hot day out, despite the oncoming harvest time. The unseasonable heat had struck Bold Fortune by surprise. Having already packed away some of her summer wear in the attic, Anna had been forced to scrounge for something to fit the heat. Finding a good outfit to bear with the hot weather had sent her digging into the bottom of her dresser, and that was where she had found this outfit.

To be fair, it had fit her wonderfully in her youth. The outfit could not be blamed for her womanly bloom. In the privacy of her own room, and Ian's lustful admiration, Anna had fit into it perfectly, just as she had in her adolescent years. But out on the floor, in the presence of so many, it felt shockingly small and scandalous. So much so that she had nearly abandoned the bar and gone back to change after overhearing a few of the bolder mutterings between patrons.

Cute white stockings rose to her mid-thighs, laced with silk strings and a teal trim the width of her thumb. Her skirt, once stretching near her adolescent knees, barely reached further than her curved rear. Then there was the blouse, once modest and fashionable, now heaving against her buxom chest so desperately she hadn't dared button it up for fear the buttons might snap off. A deerhide underbust corset helped hold it in place, though Anna feared it merely accentuated how snugly her bodice fit. Completing the eye-catching outfit was a half-cloak that matched her skirt, ruffled around the shoulders and decorated with silk lacework on the collar and trim. A brilliant garnet clasp held it over her throat, set in a golden piece the size of a silver coin. That had been Ian's wedding gift to her. It had taken him a year of savings to purchase it, plus more, and she treasured it above any of her other possessions.

Resisting the urge to run a hand through her hair, Anna let out a long breath as she dropped her cleaning rag in the water bucket and bent down to pick it up. Dropping carefully into a crouch, she made sure her back was to the serving wall. She did not dare bend over in any other direction, fearing that any lined up might see the white linen panties she wore underneath. That possibility, at least, had been pointed out before she made the humiliating mistake on the floor, by her husband and his playful hand. When she thought hard about it, she still felt the ghostly tingle from where he had smacked her rear as she stepped out of their room.

They had been married for well over ten years now. By elven reckoning, it seemed a flicker of time; the blink of an eye could have it repeated again. Anna could still remember their wedding day, her uncertainty at meeting this strange human her family had matched her with. Her apprehension had been… well, unbelievable. To be given away on such short notice to someone she had never met. In the few days she had before the wedding, she had wept and cried and threatened to run away time and time again.

Then she had met Ian Florence, and all of her doubts had been swept away. Her years before knowing him had felt as nothing. Life had not truly began until Ian had come into her life. Though they worked hard every day, and she knew she would never have the life of a well-to-do lady, she could not complain. Every day she made people smile, and went to bed with a husband who truly loved her. There wasn't anything else she could want.

She tucked a loose strand of golden hair behind her ear, careful to not bother the loose braids parting her hair. They had been hastily thrown together this morning. Usually her friend, and the third owner of the pub, helped her with them. But Grace had gotten up early this morning. Actually, Anna had slept in. So her penance was having to deal with sloppily done braids holding her bangs back from her face.

The door to the kitchens eased open, and Grace stepped into the main room. All at once, the atmosphere in the Long Way Pub shifted, as conversations slowed and a charged tension rushed into the vacuum. Most every eye in the pub drew unerringly to the gorgeous dark elf as she drove the door open with her shoulder, carefully balancing a massive platter bearing a full roasted pig. Grace had stepped out shortly after the sun went up, off to run her errands and gather food for the days noon meal. That was a specialty of the Long Way Pub.

Their noon meal was the envy of most of the district, chiefly because Grace insisted on buying the meal fresh every day. It was expensive to maintain, but the business it brought in more than made up for the effort that went into the meals. The Long Way Pub's noon meal had become a staple of the district, and if rumors proved true had even reached the Merchant houses. They had to set a limit on how many could pay for it, because the crowd always seemed endless. There were many reasons for this. For one, it was because Grace Campbell was a fantastic cook, easily the best Anna had ever seen, and certainly better than any the average citizen of Bold Fortune could hope to meet. Fresh food was not so rare, but freshly prepared food, that was a real treat.

The other reason, Anna knew, was that noon meal was always served with a ravishing smile and the warm friendliness of Grace Campbell and Anna Florence.

"Hope you all like pork" Grace called out, her infectious grin spilling through the pub like the sun chasing away a fog bank. Hoots and hollers rose, cheers to both the succulent meat on the platter and the admirable woman carrying it. At unspoken command, chairs were pushed back and the patrons who had paid for noon meal grabbed their plates. Those that hadn't, or were new to the routine, were hurriedly sent over to Anna, who stood waiting to collect. She scooped up their strongbox from under the counter and eyed the line, checking each face to make sure none tried to sneak in a free meal.

Soon the rhythmic thunk of a blade slicing meat filled the pub. Grace's melodic tone teased Anna's ears as she accepted payment; Grace Campbell was a master of many talents. Cooking, sewing, hairdressing, waitressing… she remembered every name and face that entered the Long Way Pub, and greeted the regulars with the warmth of a friend returned from a long journey. Anna was certain that Grace had some skill in magic as well, though she had never seen it in the eighty-odd years she had known the older elf. Not much, perhaps only enough for a cantrip or two. But Grace had always struck Anna as a woman competent in everything she attempted. At the very least, she threw her mind, body, and soul into any venture, and stubbornly saw it through to the end.

Having two exceptionally beautiful elves, in Anna's humble opinion, as the faces of the Long Way Pub had not struck her as a good idea, at the beginning. Her initial impression of the city had her afraid of the danger of coarse and criminal men. They had come to Bold Fortune after their village had been raided by the Demon Legion of Garan, and found this hole-in-the-wall establishment vacant and empty. Claiming it as their own, they had set about building their new life and had, at Ian's insistence, opened the pub. The name had been his idea too, citing the fact that any who came here would be a long way from home. It was to be a welcome place, where one could relax and enjoy a home-cooked meal. Anna had agreed to it, after some prodding by both Ian and Grace. And some very persuasive arguments by Ian. Bold Fortune was a rough place though, far rougher than she was used to. The dangers she had imagined had never come to pass, but Anna could not deny that her fears had been well-founded at the outset. Ian offered deterrent, and later on so did the VarGolems, but at the beginning she had feared each and every customer to walk through the doors.

Of course, the people of Bold Fortune weren't all bad. Their place had attracted all sorts at first, but over time the clientele had become better, less dangerous. The real bad sorts knew to avoid the place for fear of the VarGolems. Those that did come to the Long Way Pub were sensible, if coarse, and respected the women that served them better food and ale than they could find anywhere else in the district.

It might have helped too that both Anna and Grace wore their wedding bands. Grace's husband had perished years ago, before she had met Anna. Though she rarely spoke of her past beyond her arrival in Eostia, Anna had pieced together a few facts from others or overheard conversation. Grace had once lived in the dark elf lands to the north of Garan, in a city. But the demons had destroyed it, and in the process of fleeing she had lost her husband, fled aimlessly across the mountains bordering Garan, and arrived in Thorn half-mad with dehydration, fatigue, and starvation. The priestesses of Thorn had restored her to health, and from there she had journeyed south until she found Anna in her small village on the border of Ansur and Rad.

The day their village had come under attack, Grace had nearly lost herself. Anna still remembered the paralyzed terror on the woman's face, her disbelieving horror that her nightmare had returned to claim her again. Ian and Anna had dragged her from her home, barely escaping the marauding demons until a patrol of halflings and dwarves arrived to drive the monsters away. Grace went ten days without speaking a word after that. For some time, Anna had feared the gentle dark elf had lost her spirit. She had prayed every night for her friend.

Now here she was, nothing but smiles and life as she served the patrons of their pub. Clad in a vibrant lavender halterneck with a chin-high collar that held her delicate shoulders on display, Grace could not have been a more enchanting sight. Her bare, toned midriff drew many appreciative eyes, but the real kicker of her outfit was the drooping, front-parted skirt she wore, with black trim around her hips. Wonderfully sculpted legs peeked out from under her skirt when she moved about the tavern. Grace Campbell was a true beauty, there was no mistaking that. She wore her sensuality like a crown, though in truth she was not a terribly amorous character. Since Anna had known her she had not taken a lover, and that was not for lack of offers. Dozens of hapless men, and even a few women, had confessed their desires to her since coming to Bold Fortune. She would always laugh, twinkle her violet eyes, and brush the topic away with hardly a stutter. No one ever came out angry over it. She had that disarming quality to her, one that kept her safe from al but the most stubborn.

Part of it was her dark elven charm. Grace's people rarely travelled into Eostia anymore. Relationships between the dark elves and the humans had driven a severe wedge between the two. Anna knew the sordid things that human slavers wanted dark elves for. That was one of the reasons she had been hesitant to have Grace up front, in the pub. It was not unheard of for desperate slavers to raid legitimate establishments to kidnap valuable potential slaves. Only the presence of the VarGolem family kept those sorts at bay.

Of course, the attention of the VarGolems brought its own trouble. Her smile faded into a grimace, a troubled frown, as the events of the past few days resurfaced in her thoughts. There was that new lieutenant about. A former Black Dog, or so she had been told. All sorts of rumors had spread through Bold Fortune about a shakeup in the Black Dogs. Some even said that Vult the General had been killed. Whatever the reason though, that new lieutenant had taken his entire company of mercenaries and signed up with the VarGolems. With his newfound authority and presence, well, Anna feared that the Long Way Pub was going to have trouble. The man had taken a keen interest in Grace. And he did not strike Anna as the kind of man to take no for an answer.

"There gonna be enough" a strong female voice asked.

Anna blinked away her stupor, and turned to the woman across the counter. An apology formed on her lips, but the words froze in her throat when she saw who stood in front of her.

Maia the Mercenary Queen, a Shield of the Goddess Reborn, and the honorary warden of Rad.

A Shield stood in her pub.

Anna's mouth was dry as cotton. Her tongue clung to her teeth as she struggled to find something to say. Some of the other patrons had noticed her as well. The ripple of shock spread through the room, and even the noon meal was forgotten as the Long Way Pub realized who stood in their midst.

"What?" Maia cast her gaze around the assembled faces. "Word is this is the place to go for a meal."

"I…" Anna glanced over at Grace, who was eyeing the remains of the pig with furrowed brows. After a moment, Grace glanced up, checked how many were in line, and her shoulder sagged. "I'm sorry… it appears we may be out."

"Ah, that's a shame." Maia flashed a confident grin. "Smells delicious. Guess we took too long getting here."

"We can make you something else" Anna assured the woman.

"We'd appreciate it. Been a long ride into town."

Glancing past the woman, she realized that a second figure stood close behind Maia. It had been easy to overlook him with the shock of seeing a Shield, but now that Anna studied the man, she wondered how she had possibly not noticed his entrance.

The man was not particularly tall, about the same height as Ian. A heavy cloak obscured his frame, though his posture indicated he was powerfully built. Not that strange of a sight in a town like Bold Fortune. No, it wasn't his appearance that struck her so powerfully. It was the smoldering fire in his eyes. That terrifying darkness that swept through her spine when she met his gaze. Suffocating, smothering, like a feather pillow pressed over her face.

"Anna" Grace's voice hissed, seeming distant and muffled.

"Wha…"

His eyes turned away, releasing his hold on her, and Anna shivered. That stifling presence slid out of her, drawn like from a string. And with that dissipating sensation, she realized that the Shield had asked her a question, and stood expectantly awaiting an answer. She blanched at the breach of protocol; her reputation, and that of the Long Way Pub, was at stake. So far she had not done them a service.

"I apologize, my lady. This weather has me out of sorts."

"That's fine" Maia assured her. She produced two silver from her purse and offered them to Anna. "Will this cover whatever you can scrounge up for us? We'll take that table in the corner, if that's okay."

Though Anna managed to suppress her gasp at the shiny coins, Grace's near-silent oath burned in her ears as if the dark elf had screamed it. Silver? They rarely saw those, if at all. It was a good day when their earnings at the end amounted to two silver, but the Shield was offering that much for a simple meal. She couldn't possibly-

"Keep the change" the Shield insisted, taking Anna's hand and depositing the coins in it. Then, turning to her companion, Maia seemed to whisper something. The man cast another look around the pub, nodded once, and they headed to the table she had mentioned. It was arguably the worst table in the room. Tucked in the corner, hidden behind multiple tables, and not well lit. The regulars avoided that one because it was hard to serve. Grace or Anna could hardly see it when the pub was full, and they had to make it all the way across the room without being stopped or distracted by the other patrons.

Perhaps Maia and her companion wished to have some privacy. The thought sprang to Anna's mind, but she dismissed it without thinking further. It was not her place to know, or even ask. Placing the two silver coins reverently in the strongbox, Anna silently mouthed her thanks to the retreating Shield and closed the lid. There was no one else in line. Those who had paid stood waiting as Grace resumed cutting the pig. The dark elf's expression showed the frantic thoughts of a chef trying to count her inventory and prepare a recipe without actually seeing what she had. Anna would have offered to take over cutting the meal, but she knew the patrons wanted Grace to cut it. That was part of what made the meal so special. Instead, she excused herself and ducked back into the kitchen.

The two young girls they hired to clean and do menial tasks glanced up at her entrance, checking to see if they were needed. Both were young, urchins that Anna had plucked off the streets and offered honest labor to. Loyal to a fault, the two girls were the best employees she could have asked for. They worked hard, did not complain, and were intensely grateful to them all for giving them a rewarding and well-paying job.

"Milly, find me the bottle of Mandevino" she ordered, "please. Esther, I need four potatoes peeled, a bundle of leeks prepared, and a pot of porridge."

Her heart hammered in her chest. Anna did not know what would come of this, but the visit of a Shield surely meant their fortunes were turning upwards.

 **-v-**

"Not bad" Maia muttered. Wiping her chin with the back of her hand, she gave the bowl one last probing scoop with her spoon and released a pleased sigh. "That's a damn sight better than any other low-town bar I've eaten at. How'd you like it?"

Louk remained silent, his thoughts elsewhere. It wasn't bad. Actually, that was miserly. The meal was nothing special, but for a dirty old hole in the wall, it was edible. The kitchen had clearly thrown it hastily together; the potato chunks were not fully cooked and the soup was more hot than tasty, but he could not complain. Their head cook still seemed occupied with serving out the pig. Meal of the day, he assumed.

The fingers of his right hand curled restlessly around the gemstones in his pocket. Stones did not really cut it, either. More like shards, fragments even. Their edges were rough, as if hewn from a greater cluster. They radiated a… presence, was it? He had not quite experienced something like these before. Not a psychic aura, but there was a powerful essence to them. And the taint of corruption in them. Judging by the description Olga Discordia had given him before, these were fragments of the Greenwyrd. The danger of their existence did not escape his notice. Corrupting gemstones that emanated power. He needed to know what they were, and how to counteract them. A tool like this in the daemon's arsenal could spell doom for them all.

That was what had led him here, to Bold Fortune. With its reputed collection of merchants, appraisers, outlanders, and all things exotic, he prayed someone here might have knowledge on the matter. Because this stone was not native to his galaxy. To that end, they waited here now, scheduled to meet with a specialized jewelry appraiser who at the least could help point them in some direction. This was not a terrible place to pass the time. The food was passable, and the atmosphere not bad.

The view wasn't terrible either. His eyes darted up as their server approached. It was the dark elf, freshly cleaned from putting the remains of the pig carcass out back in the alley. She carried two large mugs in one hand, and a platter in the other. Louk ignored the food and drinks. Maia had not specified what they wanted; in a place like this it more or less was whatever the house had or felt like giving out.

Staring past the dark elf, he watched the entrance. It would be soon now.

"I managed to scrape some good parts together" the hostess informed them. She slid the platter to the center of the table. It wasn't a full meal's worth, but it was enough to pick at. Placing a mug in front of each of them, she scooped up their emptied drinks and gave a little curtsy. Her attention went more to Maia, as he expected it would. The turn gave him an eyeful of her profile. Her thick mane had been woven into a braid and tucked to the side, revealing a gentle face with hauntingly attractive features. It reminded him a little of Olga, but older, more mature. Olga wasn't very old for an elf, he realized. This one was fully matured. She had that calming air about her, a different kind of dignity, one of personal respect.

His eyes remained a touch too long, and she caught his gaze as she broke free of conversation with Maia. "Is there anything else you need, sir?"

"No." Louk gave a short shake of his head. "Not for now."

Her smile faltered, just a fraction, and Louk spotted a glimpse of understanding form in her eyes. It passed so quickly he hardly caught it. Curiosity flared, and he felt the hair on his neck rise. But then it was gone, and she curtsied again.

"I'll keep an eye on your table, then. Just holler if you need anything."

With a graceful spin, she dove back into the sea of tables. Louk resisted the urge to study her back, and instead focused his attention on Maia.

"She's a cute one" Maia observed.

"People keep telling me dark elves are rare" Louk grunted. "Yet that's the third one I've seen in as many weeks."

"Well, you aren't exactly spending your time as an average person." Maia frowned, and took a long swig. "Hah, this is good stuff. She got a real bottle out for us. I think I'll tip her when we leave."

"Why?" Louk indicated the room. "Look at these people. Your two silver could feed the whole place for a day."

"Maybe I'm feeling generous." Maia shrugged. "Regardless, you seem content with taking the back horse on this. What's up with that?"

"You know the city better than I do" he answered. "And if you draw all the attention, my job is easier."

"So I'm just your bait." Her face twisted in a show of irritation, brushed off almost immediately by another drink. "Well, I guess I earned that."

"You're not a slave" Louk reminded her. "I have nothing against you enjoying yourself, so long as you do what you are told when it matters."

"And right now?"

"Right now, we are waiting for this merchant you found."

"But after that. I mean, what's the big plan?" Maia leaned forward, unable to hide her curiosity. "You have a plan, right. To beat this thing in Garan."

"That plan is in the works" Louk assured her. "This isn't as simple as making another army and marching to a grand battle."

"I know." Her gaze fell to the table, mood darkening. The assault by Polso's corrupted men had hammered that fact irrecoverably into her. He wondered if she had the spirit to recover from it. Louk had seen plenty of strong men and women break under lesser circumstances. In his private thoughts, he thought that the odds were good, barring unexpected changes.

"So, which one?"

"What?" Louk eyed the red-head with a carefully schooled expression. He had an idea what she meant by the question.

"Come on, you're not a monk. There's no way a hot-blooded man like yourself hasn't noticed this place has two incredibly attractive women running the bar." Maia arched an eyebrow. "If you had to pick one, which would it be? That hot piece of fudge or the iced milk?"

Louk stared at Maia for several seconds; the silence grew quickly uncomfortable for the Shield, and she squirmed under his attention. His eyes narrowed.

"What, it's just a bit of fun."

"They're married" he noted, studying Maia's expression with predatory intent. He thought he caught… slight twitch on the corner of her lip when she touched her stomach. The wound was acting up. He would need to take another look at that.

"Are they?"

"Wedding bands."

"They have them?" Her brows furrowed, and she gazed off towards the bar. "I hadn't noticed. That still doesn't answer my question."

"My answer is neither." Louk leaned back against the wall. The wood here was soft, old, warp from age and rain. Like most of this city, so far as he had seen. Cursed with neglect and wear.

"What, you wouldn't even if they offered themselves? I mean, I'm not a…" Maia's voice trailed off into silence. Her expression went slack, and a near imperceptible shudder spilled up from her stomach. She blushed, and avoided his gaze. "Um… wow, it just struck me how long it's been. I'm sorry, that wasn't… I don't know what came over me."

Louk clicked his tongue against his teeth.

Damn.

Settling his attention on the drink, Louk cursed silently into his mug and took a sip. He did not lower it again until a commotion at the entrance piqued his interest.

Five men wearing armor and carrying open arms stood about the entrance. An unfamiliar insignia showed proudly on their right shoulders, but other than that they showed no unifying markings. Mercenaries, he assumed. Of a smaller company or other. The four wore basic leather hauberks over their clothes, but the fifth had a suit of decent chainmail under his cuirass. Their eyes swept over the room, seeking an open table.

That in and of itself was not noteworthy. Armed men were as common in Bold Fortune as beggars. No, what made it interesting was the tense silence that had fallen over the patrons of the Long Way Pub. The regulars, who he assumed were regulars, eyed the five men with apprehension. The newcomers gazed dumbly at the men, clearly not understanding why the mood had changed, but knowing that it had.

He also did not miss the look of concern that flashed across the elven bartender's face. She masked it well, covering the slip almost instantly. But Louk noted the worry that spilled over her delicate face.

"That one's open" one muttered, and the five men sauntered forwards to claim a round table in the center of the room. They plopped down casually enough, and did not make excessive noise or draw attention to themselves. But their arrival had clearly shut down the cheerful atmosphere.

"That's Morgan" Maia breathed, gazing at the leader of the five. "He's a Black Dog. What in the hells is he doing wearing VarGolem patches?"

"VarGolem?"

"One of the Grand Clans" she explained. "Criminals, thugs, they run half the underground in Bold Fortune. Why would Morgan join them?"

"We knew it would happen" Louk countered. "With Vult lost, there would be a portion of the Black Dogs that would turn out."

"Yes, but, there's a wide difference between knowing it and seeing it" Maia seethed. "That faithless cur!"

"Easy, Maia. We're here to meet with an appraiser. Don't spoil it by causing a row."

"I know." She bobbed her head, though her heated gaze did not turn from the man's back. "The balls on him, though. Did he take his entire company?"

Content to study them in silence, Louk waited. The truth of it was that their presence could cause a problem. Soldiers and tension always turned into trouble. He needed to keep an eye on that. If they got in his way, he would put them down. Fortunately, they did not have the air of men looking for trouble.

The dark elf reappeared from the kitchen, carrying a tray filled with cleaned mugs. For a flicker of a moment, her bright smile vanished, cheeks paling at the sight of the five men. Hesitation held her in place at the door. He could read the fight-or-flight battle in her mind, frozen with indecision.

She would have done well to keep moving in either direction. Remaining in the doorway silhouetted her to the room, and it only took a moment for one of the five to spot her.

"Grace!" The one called Morgan offered a grand wave. There was no ill intent in the motion, or his tone. But Louk did not miss the fear in the dark elf's expression. "A moment."

The other elf, the golden-haired bartender, moved towards the end of the bar. "I can take your order, Morgan. Grace is-"

"Don't be silly" the man called back. "You've got a bar to work. We just want to place an order, that's all."

The dark elf exchanged a meaningful stare with her counterpart. Handing the tray over, she meekly nodded to the table and smoothed her dress, a sudden shyness spilling through her movements.

Louk sighed, and stopped watching. Not his problem.

"I don't like that" Maia growled, her voice low and threatening.

"Then don't watch" Louk ordered. The sharpness in his tone set her back, and the Shield eyed him disbelievingly.

"But-"

"We are here to meet with the appraiser. Jeopardizing that over a hostess is moronic. They are soldiers. They'll bother her a bit, then everyone will part ways."

Ignoring the table, Louk made a show of inspecting his mug. He could hear the coarse language being bandied about at the dark elf's expense. The whole pub could hear it. Hardly the worst lines he had heard. The one called Morgan sounded like he had genuine interest in the dark elf, carnal as it may be. Nothing reached his ears that caused concern. He was used to far viler places than this.

When he set the mug down, Maia's hateful glare remained on the men. Obediently silent, she still stewed in fury, and clutched her mug so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

"Maia…" he warned.

"Serving you or not, I am still a Shield" she grumbled "It would be bad for the Goddess' reputation if I did not step in."

"And you would interfere with my mission for this?" He eyed her challengingly. Maia did not flinch.

"Those in service to the Goddess Reborn protect the innocent. Even when it is inconvenient."

"Throne" he cursed, hiding the sound under a grunt. Eyeing the table once, he gauged the level of effort required, and how to go about not ruining his plans for the day. "You owe me" he snapped.

Giving his mug a backhanded push, he sent it tottering over the edge of the table. The clay piece cracked on the floor, splitting in nearly even pieces. The sound and motion went unnoticed over the display of the dark elf gamely trying to take orders from the men while they vied for her attention.

"ELF" Louk bellowed, just loud enough to cut over all the noise and silence the room. Maia shot him an incredulous, stunned look. Clearly, she had expected him to get up and start swinging.

The dark elf gazed at him stupidly, clearly shaken by the aggression in his voice. Even the five men had gone quiet, though, and shot bemused glares in his direction.

"If you're done, I seem to have broken my mug. Refill. Now."

The brusqueness of his tone slapped the elf like a physical blow. She recoiled, anger trickling into her eyes, but she hid the emotion and offered a stiff nod. Extricating herself from the table, she hurried over and bent down to scoop up the broken piece.

Louk caught her by the chin, carefully pinching his thumb and index finger around her jaw. Easing her face up to look at him, he offered a condescending sneer.

"Take the broken mug, and go into the back room" he whispered, his tone at odds with his projected expression. Speaking so softly that only she could hear, he continued. "Do you need assistance with those men?"

"I…" confused, the dark elf shook her head. "No, they are brutes, but I can suffer through them."

"If that changes, use the word 'husband.' My companion here thinks you might be in danger. We will step in if you desire."

"My thanks" she breathed, though she had doubt written over her face.

Rising back to her feet, she turned to head back. Louk turned his hand and swatted her across the backside as she retreated.

"The good stuff, do you hear me? Not this bilgewater you call ale!"

The elf at the bar shot him a murderous look. He pretended to not see it, and set his attention back on his stunned companion.

"That work for you?"

"You… you are unbelievable" she stammered.

The patrons seemed confused as well, unsure of which table to be more wary of. The five men had suddenly lost the unenviable position of the most feared men in the building. Louk had placed that burden squarely on his own shoulders. It was a shame, really. This place had such a lovely atmosphere.

Returning to the waiting game, Louk reached to his belt and drew a thin knife. It was a hiltless piece, a simple throwing blade. Weighted in the forges of Wellsworn, it was a beautiful, if redundant, weapon. He used it more for his own entertainment than killing. There were much more useful ways to take a life. More efficient too.

He settled with a game. Spreading his dominant hand on the table, he held the knife, blade pointed down. The setup caught the Shield's attention. Her own curiosity bested her irritation.

"You do pinfinger?" She snorted. "Why am I not surprised. Mastered it yet?"

"Mastered?" He closed his eyes and stabbed downwards. The blade caressed his finger, tickling the skin. Flipping the blade into the air, he caught it midflight and stabbed down again, this time just touching the same finger's other side. Repeating the motion five more times, he ran the blade up and down his fingers. Then he opened his eyes and smirked at the Shield. "Perfected, yes."

"You're just better at everything, aren't you" she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. Slouching down over her drink, she eyed it glumly. "You'd almost be a good friend if you weren't such an ass."

"Who said I wanted to be a good friend?" Louk shrugged, returning the knife to his belt. "Friends die. My life is judged by accomplishments, not friendships."

"Who does the judging" she asked, genuinely intrigued

His expression grew stiff, and a sour mood crept into his thoughts. He thought of the half-remembered face, its details warring with the sands of time to remain pure and spotless in his mind's eye. A sudden chill of unease shook him. Short but vibrant red hair, dazzling blue eyes, lips of smoothest pink.

"The dead judge me" he replied. "Those whose lives I take, and those whose lives I have saved."

"Seems like that balance is weighed heavily against you" she observed.

Eager to change the topic, Louk eyed the bar. He did not know why her questions had him on edge. It was something he had come to terms with, on the other side. Being surrounded by so many who did not understand had him unbalanced. In the future, he would have to guard his thoughts more carefully.

The real reason he did not care was because he considered every soul he had met in this realm to be dead already.

Escape came in the form of the leader of the five, Morgan, rising from his chair. Impatient for the dark elf's return, he strode over to the bar, and demanded, rather loudly, for the barkeeper to go fetch her.

Anna. That was the pale one's name. A high elf, or so he assumed. Just like Celeste, only not worshiped as a god.

Judging by the man's tone, the situation might indeed take a turn for the worse. Not necessarily a horrible turn, but a bad turn nonetheless. Fecking throne, he did not need this right now. Morgan's pals slowly got up and joined their boss, haranguing the elf at the bar.

"Louk" Maia stated, inclining her head. Both hands had disappeared under the table, reaching for her swords, most likely. Stopping her with an upraised hand, Louk ordered her to wait.

Morgan pushed past the elf and went into the kitchen. Her protests were drowned out by lecherous comments by the remaining four. In the end, she retreated behind the bar, eyeing them anxiously as one stepped in with her and began inspecting the bottles available.

"I take it Bold Fortune does not have peacekeepers" he muttered.

"VarGolems own this district. They are the peacekeepers."

He understood that well enough. That had been his youth; a thug for a criminal organization. The scene struck him as eerily familiar, but he had been the one going into the kitchen. It had been an old man he'd dragged out, and beat to death in front of his terrified patrons. The man had begged for his life, pissed himself in fear, abased himself and grovelled like a rancid worm. He had enjoyed that one.

One lifetime, the first of many. And the one he hated most, yet valued for everything it had taught him. Self-reliance, stubbornness, hatred.

Mere moments after the lead man's disappearance, he returned to the main room, one arm wrapped comfortably around the silent dark elf hostess. The woman's expression showed her disgust, and fury at being dragged along by the man. But she did not fight back. She could not; it would only turn out poorly for her, and she knew it. Louk did not, however, that she did have a mug in her hands, one that was filled with some kind of ale. Her dedication to his false demand surprised him.

"I don't know why you're so fussy about it" Morgan told her. His voice carried well enough in the deathly silence of the room. Several patrons, sensing the impending trouble, had taken the liberty of vacating, leaving the pub half-empty. And emptying quickly.

Pushing the dark elf against the bar, he placed his hands on her hips and leaned in to sniff her throat. She recoiled from his touch, but had nowhere to go.

"There are plenty of brothels to choose from" the dark elf replied coldly. Her fighting spirit had been riled. Louk appreciated that. Choosing that as his cue, he eased out from the table and gestured for Maia to move to the entrance. Advancing slowly, he headed towards the bar itself, not the cluster of men and the harrassed elven women.

"There isn't a woman in Bold Fortune as beautiful as you are" Morgan insisted. One hand trailed suggestively up her waist, dragging against her bare stomach. The dark elf bit back a whimper, eyes growing wet with angry tears. "Come on! You're a great cook. I've got a great cock. It's like we were made for each other."

"If my husband were still here…" she began.

"Sex-starved widows are the best" Morgan cooed. His exploring hand pressed further up, sliding around to her side and reaching up to tease her shoulder. "They already know what to do, and they're jonesing for that stuffed experience again." His attention shifted past the dark elf. "Now Anna, on the other hand. She looks satisfied. Bet that husband of hers hammers her like a bent nail every night. He'd be a pussy not to."

The high elf flushed crimson at the comment, horrified by the man's boldness. "How dare you!"

"Oh, I dare" Morgan purred. Pulling back his hand, he tapped the VarGolem crest. "Haven't you heard, I own this block now. I'm your new boss."

"We pay protection fees" Anna warned.

"My protection fees" Morgan agreed. He regarded the silent, fuming dark elf for a long breath. His mouth split in an unappealing grin. "The rates are going up, as they say. But I don't mind cutting you a discount. Bit of service for free protection. What do you say?"

"I would rather die" the dark elf snarled. She pushed suddenly against the man, and slipped free of his grasp. Before she could move a step, the man threw out his hand and caught her by the arm.

"Then again, breaking in a hot-blooded mare has a charm of its own. I'd even be willing to make sure my men come in and pa…" the man's voice trailed off, stolen by the scowl he put on at Louk's approach. Pulling the struggling Grace against himself, Morgan wrapped one arm possessively around her waist. The other dropped to his sword. "What do you want?"

"My drink" Louk drawled. He reached for the mug in Grace's hand. The VarGolem lieutenant ripped it from her grasp and dashed it on the floor.

"Piss off, cunt. I don't like the way you were talking to her."

"Ah, because your manners are so much better." Louk offered a cruel smile, one that set the lieutenant's men reeling a pace. The one behind the bar joined his companions, a look of uncertainty crossing all their faces.

Except for the leader, staring at Louk with cold, dangerous eyes.

"What, you want her too? She's off limits. Grace is mine."

"I belong to no man" Grace growled. She met Louk's gaze, if only for a heartbeat. The look in her eyes begged for Morgan to be put in his place. He could not deny, the ghostly memory of a blonde-haired, blue eyed Praetorian officer flashed across his mind. The steel in her spirit was so very similar.

"Says she doesn't belong to you" Louk repeated.

"She'll be singing a different tune once she gets a taste."

"I believe that's called vomiting" Louk quipped. The man's face twisted in anger.

"You looking to piss off the VarGolem family?" The man did not lack confidence, though he did have the sense to draw his sword first. The blade did not strike Louk as exceedingly special. It was the kind of thing he would see on a standard mercenary. "I can have a hundred men here."

"And you want to tell your bosses how you started a brawl and lost a hundred me within days of signing on?" Louk gave a dark chuckle. It was the same kind that sent undisciplined goons running for safety. The fact that these men merely adopted grim looks and drew their blades spoke to the courage of the Black Dogs. He assumed these were all former Black Dogs, at least.

"You looking to die?" Morgan released Grace. Shoving the dark elf to the bar, he cleared space with a swish of his sword. The two elves scurried back along the bar, hiding on the far end, hugging each other for protection. The dark elf showed more courage than the high elf but both were afraid. They would be stupid not to be.

The last of the patrons had split, leaving just those involved. It was better that way. Less collateral to deal with.

"Not particularly. I'm rather allergic to it." He gestured to the door. "But there is a Shield here, and she informed me that this sort of thing isn't allowed on her watch."

They shot curious looks to the figure in the doorway. On seeing Maia standing there, hands on her swords, they blanched. Even Morgan hesitated, eyeing the Shield with wariness.

"You know the rules" he growled. "The Grand Clans operate as they please, and don't cause trouble."

"You think I'll turn a blind eye when I'm here?" Maia flashed a dangerous, confident grin. "Is your life worth that bargain?"

"You think I am afraid of you?" Morgan laughed. "I've seen you fight. You're nothing special."

The man's words projected confidence. Louk did not believe a word of it. He had seen what Maia could stand against. The fight itself did not matter. Killing a champion of the gods, was a superhuman feat. This lieutenant did not strike him as deadly. Proficient, but not deadly. Regardless, he was not keen on a fight. Odds were his meeting had already been ruined. No merchant would go to a pub after hearing blades had been drawn. That made him angry, but he could not afford to waste time on something foolish like this.

This needed to end, quickly, so that he could recover some productivity to the day.

Not bothering to pull a weapon, he stretched out his hand and swept it over the five men. "You four will die. Morgan gets to live."

His proclamation confused them. They wavered, and the four subordinates eyed each other.

"What?"

"They die. But I won't kill you. Hell, I won't even scratch you. You get to walk out of this alive. Them, not so much."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Does to me." Louk indicated each man in turn. "You, you, you, and you. I don't lie. Each of you will die, and you boss will only have wounded pride. Willing to die for his pride?"

Two of them gave a subconscious shake of their heads. They were as afraid of him as the elves were afraid of them. That was good. Two less to handle. Trusting it was the right timing, he pulled back the edge of his cloak and revealed his sword. The sight of the engraved pommel set the third on his heels. They knew enough to recognize the danger of a good sword. Louk could not have been mistaken for a fop with an expensive blade. A man like Louk, with a blade like that, it screamed death.

Morgan glowered at him, and flinched. Without having to look behind, he knew that his men had lost their resolve. Lowering his sword, he muttered darkly under his breath. His blade returned to its scabbard, as did his mens'.

"I'll remember your face" Morgan snarled.

"Quaking in my boots" Louk assured him. "Get out."

The VarGolem soldiers shuffled out of the Long Way Pub. Their leader's simmering rage emanated like a fog. Watching them go, Louk leaned back against the bar and loosed a slow, calming breath. His hands tingled. The blood had been so close. He had tasted it in the air, the premonition of slaying. Only when Maia confirmed that the men were not sticking around did he permit himself to turn away from the door.

The heart-shaped caramel face that greeted him stole the thoughts of blood from his mind.

"Thank you, stranger." Grace's hands were clasped in front of her chest, fingers intertwined under her jaw. Her whole body trembled; the rush of adrenaline was wearing out, and the shock was hitting now. Her tongue slicked out, wetting her lips, and she hurriedly fetched a mug. "Here, let me get you something."

"Don't worry over it." He reached over and grasped her wrist. She tensed, eyes focusing on his encroaching hand. Slowly, Louk released her and glanced over at the other elf. "I wasn't thirsty. They'll be coming back."

"We will deal with that later" the pale elf assured him. "But, you have our gratitude for protecting us. Morgan is… he is new. I had considered petitioning the VarGolems for assistance with his affections."

"Better get that done quick. I doubt we'll be here next time." He shifted to the side as Maia joined them. "But thank Maia. She's the one who insisted on stepping in."

The elves voiced their thanks, which Maia brushed off. "He's on my list now, don't you worry."

"And we are on his" Grace noted dourly. "The animal is one of yours isn't he?"

"I'm not a Black Dog" Maia denied. "Nor is he anymore"

"Well, regardless, we appreciate you stepping in." Grace flashed them both a shy smile. Her smile lingered as Louk accepted a mug from her. His insistence that he did not need it had not deterred her in the least. "This city could use more men like you."

"Trust me" he assured her, taking a long drink. "That's the last thing this place needs."

 **-v-**

 **Capitol, Ken**

Work left him exhausted these days. With all this nonsense of strange troubles brewing in Garan, and the mysterious figure called Reaper upending the power balance in the Goddess' ranks, opportunities rose and fell at the blink of an eye. As such, he found himself waking before the sun every day, and going to be long after it had set. Meetings, dealings, arranging deliveries… he enjoyed the challenge. He enjoyed the thrill of competition. Of stepping on the necks of his rivals and grinding their enterprises into dust.

That Reaper mystified him. No one knew who he was, or where he had come from. If he could be made an ally, however, the profits were uncountable. The one man who held the Goddess' ear could lead to wealth beyond even his broad imagination. He did not believe the sordid rumors, of course. Those were pure fantasy, or malignant griping of jealous fools. The Goddess was unimpeachable. And the Reaper cleared showed little interest in the pleasures of the flesh. Which was a shame. That had always been one of his greatest weapons. There were few men who could resist his systematic ruses, threats, and eventual offerings of the most exclusive flesh in the country.

Flesh… he thought of the Dark Queen, Olga Discordia. That woman, she rivalled the Goddess herself in beauty. He did not consider that blasphemy. The dark elf queen exuded an intoxicating seductive aura, a succulent darkness that excited him in ways he had not experienced in some time. She would have been a fine addition to his rumor, now this one he did believe, that she and Celeste had known each other as children. It explained the decisions Celeste had made in recent days.

Lying peacefully on the goose-down pillows, he allowed his mind to wander over the image of the two of them, the Goddess and the Dark Queen, entangled in his arms. That sort of thing would never happen, of course. But oh how it enticed him. That was a show he could have built a kingdom from. Perhaps he should look into incorporating that into his exclusive services. It shouldn't be hard to find a pair of elves that were passably similar. Nobles would pay their weight in gold to indulge in that blasphemous fantasy.

The pleasant thought of how much money that would bring him made him smile. But the smile faded when the darkness of his closed eyes grew slightly darker. It was a silent movement, undetectable save for the a hint of shadow in an already dark room. Opening his eyes, he gazed up at the unexpected intruder.

She stood over his bed, dagger gripped in both hands. Poised with the blade raised as if seeking sacrificial blessing. Her eyes were closed tight, jaw clenched tight.

"Chloe" he breathed, staring up at her in admiration.

"I… will… kill… you" she murmured, lips pressed firmly together. Refusing to look him in the eye, she shook her arms once to loosen her muscles, swallowing nervously. "Bastard."

"You came back to me" he whispered, unwilling to break the stillness of the room.

Her beautiful face twisted in a scowl. A tear trickled down her soft cheek. "You deserve to die" she hissed. The dagger lowered, drawing nearer to his heart. Her sniffling breaths left him in awe.

"So wonderful" he told her. "You have grown into such a fine young woman."

"Don't speak!" Chloe's eyes snapped open. Hate and fury flowed through them, but the hot tears blurred her crystalline orbs. That delicate jaw trembled, overcome with her inner turmoil. "I'm going to kill you. Here."

"I always thought you might." Reaching up, he clasped her hand and pulled the dagger closer. Chloe resisted, straining against his soft strength. A mewling whimper spilled out of her lungs. "My beautiful little girl."

"...kill you…" she cried out, her voice wavering shrilly.

"You already did" he promised her. Rising to a sitting position, he drew her dagger against his chest, holding it closer than a mother holding a newborn. "That day you left me. You broke my heart."

The half-elf sobbed once, and the fury drowned in conflict. Mustering strength, she pushed, and the dagger pricked his chest. The pain made him gasp, but he did not pull away. One did not turn away from a prodigal treasure because its edges had grown jagged.

"Shush. I'm here now. You came back to me. My beautiful daughter."

Chloe wept into his shoulder. The dagger crept deeper into his chest. He stifled the pain, and pried the blade out of her hands. Pulling her onto the bed, he wrapped her in his arms and eased her to the mattress. Shushing her crying, he wiped her eyes with the pillowcase.

He had missed her. There was so much to make up for.


	18. Rage and Grace

**Author's Note: Back! Work's kept me out of writing for a bit, that and trying to get various projects up and running with tabletop/rpg concepts. This one's another long one, as a thank you for your patience.**

 **So this story is going to head in a very different direction than most of you are going to expect, just as a heads up. Be prepared for lots of righteous anger, horror, and heartbreak before the story ends. But don't fear, because there is a plan. Light shines brightest after a dark night, or something like that.**

 **Reviewers-  
Danteinfernus - **Louk's attitude in that whole thing is certainly more of the "I'm too old for this." As for Mandeville, it isn't hypnotism. More like severe emotional trauma and a victim being crippled by that trauma. Don't worry, he will get his.  
 **LittleWhiteMouse-** I don't really know the "plot" either. Found a site somewhere where a dude reviewed it, I only gave it a passing glance to see who/what the characters were. Other than that, I wouldn't delve too deep into it.  
 **Guest** \- Nah, Louk doesn't have crushes. He's too old for that, but I can assure you he does have pretty brutal emotional scarring, and will still admire a pretty lady.  
 **MOR The Divine Being** \- lol. That's why we aspire to be better!  
 **bestpony666-** Rat is too generous.  
 **ManwithaPlan113-** ?  
 **Abdiel Amaro** \- eh, isekai are incredibly hard to pull off well. They usually have to devolve into campiness, which isn't necessarily a bad thing.  
 **Disciple of Ember-** Whaaaaaaa... Slaaneshi influence on Maia? because of that odd blade thing that stabbed her? NOOOOOOOOOOO. Slaanesh never uses tools that slowly corrupt from the inside. that NEVER happens. Also, nobody beats Inquisitor Jadus. You could say he is mind-blowingly awful. (too soon?)  
 **SomeGuyOverHere** \- Oh, he will die. As for Anna and Grace, they aren't going to be story-centric, but they will be there. And yes, Louk has a thing for elves (it's the ears). That, and the genetic disposition of all elf-like races to be unnaturally attractive. And there will be female bad ladies. Maia's fate is, well, it shan't be pretty. I might have to write a scene where Louk takes out 100 guys now... hm... ideas.  
 **Axccel** \- pretty much. But one cannot also afford to bait a prey that is more dangerous than you are. Glad you liked the rescue. Certainly a high-octane one. GLAD YOU GOT THE PRINCESS BRIDE REFERENCE! Obviously, daemon and demon are pronounced the same in our time. But technically, you can pronounce them slightly differently. It's all about the emphasis. As for the dark elf vs high elf thing, couldn't tell you. That's briefly mentioned in the K-verse lore, so I ran with it. I honesty understand where you are coming from about characters and personality, but I would argue that you really aren't missing that much info on them. Some stories are about telling the audience, others are about showing it. I've never been a big fan on stories that tell you who people are. I personally prefer stories that 'show' who people are. I don't read to be told what happens. I read to picture a story in my mind and let my imagination run wild, not to be given a clear set of instructions that tell me how/what to think of the story. As for their characters, as I've responded to multiple reviews, there's nothing "childish" about any of their responses. Alicia is very protective of her cousin. Claudia is very protective of her Goddess. Louk is an unknown person that radiates bad vibes. Olga was literally Hitler, and their BFF Vult gets accused of being the new literally Hitler. I've seen people in real life lose their minds over much less dramatic issues. I think the problem people are having with the characters stems more from over-simplifying the setting. I'm not treating this as an anime story. It's a 'real people' story with 'real people' responses. People are emotional, are jealous, are flawed. So are these characters. The accusation that they are being "childish" isn't something I can take seriously, because losing your shit over somebody accusing your best friend of being an evil bastard and telling everybody that he needs to be killed is a very human, adult response. And I put plenty of time into showing how these characters are. If you really need it, I can go and copy the sections of character background in the story that explain their viewpoints where they are coming from, because it's really all there. People just aren't willing to take what is there and expound on it. This isn't a cheap thrill story. It's going to take a bit of effort to understand, and I am perfectly okay with that, because I personally hate stories that require no critical thinking.  
 **Guest 2-** Is there such a thing as a bad purging?  
 **Guest 3-** Hah, you think there will be people left...

 **Graphic Chapter ahead.**

* * *

 **Bold Fortune**

Maia yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand in a lazy gesture. From her seat outside the alchemist shop, she had kept watch for over two hours now. Ostensibly, it was to keep an eye out for VarGolem reprisal. They were still in that area of Bold Fortune. And Morgan's departure had obviously not been the end of the situation. From what little she had known of Morgan, he was not the kind to let an insult or defeat slide. In his own time, he would come back for vengeance on his wounded pride.

The VarGolem Clan would never allow that. To move against a Shield was too risky, even for them. Besides, Maia had reached an understanding with them some time ago. Though she despised the Grand Clans, there was the undeniable fact to face that they kept Bold Fortune alive. If the Grand Clans went to war, the whole city would burn. And that was something Maia would be powerless to stop without the backing of a full army. Even then, thousands of innocents would die in the crossfire.

No, Louk did not expect trouble. He just wanted Maia out of the way. After settling things in the Long Way Pub, it was clear that their meeting with the appraiser had fallen through. That blame landed squarely on Maia's shoulders. She knew it should have meant more to her, but she could not bring herself to apologize for it. Not when the other choice had been for them to do nothing as those mongrels had abused them. Protecting the innocent was their calling; even Louk could not deny it.

That small spark of satisfaction warmed her soul as she watched the passing people. Ordinarily, sitting on her rump while important things were going on would drive her up the wall. Maia was a woman of action, and sitting about grinded at her senses. Being pushed to the curbside, literally in this instance, would have had her foaming at the mouth in a previous life. Now she merely waited, chewed on the last bits of jerky she had bought from a vendor earlier in the day.

Her mind had drifted off numerous times, to be sure, often lingering on the pleasing smile of the blonde elf woman from the Long Way Pub. Elves had never been her thing; women neither. Strong, toned men with bulging muscles and hard bodies, that was her thing. Her lovers had always been warriors. Trying to picture a soft and busty elf in their place made her mouth curl in a wanton smile. A creature like Anna would be delicious.

The door to the shop opened, and her new master strode into the sunlight. Ripping her thoughts back to the present, Maia swallowed the last bit of jerky and pushed herself to her feet. A touch of stiffness could be felt in her buttocks, and she absently rubbed with one hand.

"Find what you were looking for?"

"No."

His gruff tone could have indicated exasperation, or irritation, or perhaps it hid a gleeful joy he did not want shown. It was fairly impossible to read his attitude. Dour and angry were about the only two she could recognize. Regardless, there was truthfulness in his word, and Maia knew better than to press him on it. That would open up a line of conversation that would lead back to why Louk had been forced to go to this alchemist's shop in the first place. While she did not mind her decision at the pub, she did not need to have her face dragged in it over and over again.

Content to walk by his side, Maia stuck her thumbs in her belt and sauntered at an easy pace, enjoying the warm sunlight in the otherwise chilly day. It would be time to break out a fur coat soon.

His path did not seem to have a destination in mind. For a while, at least a few hours, they walked here and there, sometimes moving along the main roads, other times cutting through seemingly random allies. Maia recognized the bizarre decisions quickly enough; he moved as if he had a tail. To the best of her ability, she noted nothing. Her own sixth sense had been developed over time through hunting down ambushers, both demon and non-demon alike. There were few creatures that could trail her without notice.

Before long, she assured herself that Louk's path truly had no determined objective. Her impression of the man so overshadowed ordinary reality that it had completely escaped her realization that Louk Shannegh had not set foot in Bold Fortune before today. Even an unnatural being such as him had simple curiosities. After all, acquiescing to her earlier request at the Long Way Pub would not have come from a soulless monster. There was some element of humanity in him still.

As Maia followed the strange man from storefront to hovel, through squares and alleys, she abandoned watching their backs in favor of examining the man himself. Even with her long ride spent watching the man's back, Maia felt that she could hardly understand a single thing about him. Seeing him here, surrounded by people, it cast him in a slightly different light. Not terribly different, but different enough Maia felt she was seeing a side of the man that none had seen before.

Simply put, Louk Shannegh could in fact blend into a crowd.

It was mesmerizing to watch, even if it struck her as surreally ordinary. The man that had stolen the Goddess Reborn's ear, had remarshaled the Black Dogs like school children, and even browbeat Claudia Levantine into sullen acceptance; that man slipped through the crowd as if he were a ghost. The people of Bold Fortune hardly seemed to notice his presence. Those that did passed him over with absent gazes. One or two spoke with him, only in response to elicited conversation. Simple questions, with simple answers, was all he needed.

The questions were innocent, too. Directions to the nearby square. Where a baker could be found. It was the sort of questions one would expect of a visitor to the city. Maia could detect no darker purpose or intent. Truthfully, she found herself listening to his questions, digesting the information. As the questions began to line up, and the answers sank in, Maia took those locations and painted a picture on the canvas of her mind.

A perimeter. He was mapping out a perimeter. And the internal pieces were the VarGolem's territory. The accuracy of the map was… terrifying. Though he was putting it together piece by piece, he was quickly completing a fully realized map of their holdings and their control.

Was this in response to the incident at the Long Way Pub? Louk Shannegh had struck her as a man who regarded any threat as a real and present danger. Even if nothing were to come of it, a web of information like this would pose an invaluable tool later on. For someone who had been in town less than a day, he worked fast. Faster than Maia could have expected.

And if something did come in response from the VarGolem's, he had established a baseline of where and how to respond. Because in that web of connections he drew from the crowd, he had pieced a smaller map, a more intimate map: the best baker in the district, healer, blacksmith. There were more beside, but the best vendors and merchants in VarGolem territory clustered around a particular area, a radius of about three city blocks. Within that block, the home of the VarGolem family members stood.

Only hours after his first altercation, and he had pinpointed their hidehole.

It was not a terrible secret, as it was. The Grand Clans owned their territory; they had no need to hide. Armed guards patrolled the streets. Their building was fortified. At least three mages remained on location at all times. Spies through the district and beyond kept them safe from surprise raids. Not that they had any real fear of that. No one had the power to assault the VarGolem except perhaps the Spearo clan.

Louk Shannegh was not part of that clan. But Maia felt certain he could tear that whole building down brick by brick if he desired it.

Dusk fell over the city, and in the last rays of sunlight, Louk Shannegh ceased his meandering investigation. It was not because he had finished his circuit; indeed even with the information gathered there were still holes in his net. Nor was it because he felt like turning in for the night. No, he stopped for a much simpler, more human reason.

A fire in the district.

Her heart sank when she recognized the direction.

 **-v-**

 **The White Citadel, Ken**

The library of the White Citadel was a place Celeste had not visited in some time. Few did visit the library; seeing as it was placed in the highly-secured citadel, and located halfway up the tower, it took quite a lot of effort to visit. The knowledge held inside was well worth the journey, in Celeste's opinion. But her opinion anchored on the proximity of the library to her own quarters, further up the tower. To her, it was a short walk away. But to a nobleman in the capitol, or even two regions away, it was quite the ordeal to gain entry to the White Citadel, be cleared by the scribes of the library, and then seek out the relevant materials they required.

Occupying three levels of the White Citadel, the library contained a vast quantity of books, tomes, scrolls, and miscellania accumulated through the history of Eostia itself and even before that time. The vast array of knowledge excited her every time she thought of it. For the first twenty years of her reign she had spent an inordinate amount of time here, patrolling the aisles of the library and studying her people, their history, and their lives. Had she not the responsibilities of her position, she would have loved to spend hours each day engrossed in a new article or document. Unfortunately, she lacked the time. The many years of war with Garan had stretched the lands thin, and it seemed she could hardly breathe without a new petition, or a request for her aid. Coming to the library had become a rare escape from the duties of her rulership.

As the musty smell of old pages filled her nostrils, she deeply regretted her absence from this hallowed place. More so than the churches of the Ecclesiarchy, or the silent graveyards of forgotten battlefields, this library filled her with reverence for the lives of her people. Names could be forgotten, and memories faded. But books carried through time. True, they decayed and faded, but as long as a scribe remained to create a copy, that knowledge could remain preserved for all time. The records of her people were awe-inspiring. She had, once, dared to inspect the genealogy of the Arcturus family, to see if she could spot the origin behind the family's heroic bloodline. Their genealogy stretched back seventeen generations, including Alicia herself.

The three levels of the library contained vastly different articles. The first, the Public Source, contained ledgers, deeds, wills, research documents and all the various and sundry paperwork related to the people of Eostia and the continuation of the land. The majority of the library's visitors went here, whether to check a record that might back a claim or to reference a previous work for inspiration. Tightly packed aisles overflowing with information filled the floor, offering little more than a single-person's width between them. In the center of the room, a circular desk held the scribes on duty. From their position they assisted seekers, and dutifully worked to copy over documents whose legibility had been deemed irreparable. Around that desk, communal tables gave space for visitors to sit and read their chosen text. Twelve private alcoves encircled the floor as well, small indents in the wall with benches for the individual seeking silence and their own thoughts.

That floor had kept her attention for two whole years, on and off, but the second floor had stolen Celeste's heart for nearly eighteen years. The Forbidden Source contained knowledge deemed unsuitable for the average citizen of Eostia. Established by the founder of the White Citadel, Jirve Byron, it remained one of the most secure and protected repositories of knowledge in the land. Not because of the danger its inventory held, though there were many dangerous things on the second level, but because none of the items in the Forbidden Source had practical usage. Divided into two sections, the Forbidden Source held all manner of wondrous articles. On the one side, magical tomes describing arcane rituals sat on plinths, and ancient paintings showing old legends hung on specially made easels. On the other side, studies on warfare and combat filled shelves, and honored weapons and armor stood proudly in display cases. Magic and warfare. Two things she dearly wished the people of Eostia never would have to see.

Entry to the Forbidden Source required her explicit approval, in form of the Goddess Seal. In order for entry, one had to present the imprinted certificate and have it visible at all times. Failure to produce the certificate would result in an immediate expulsion from the White Citadel itself, as well as a three-month ban from the citadel grounds. A dedicated team of four scribes tended to the Forbidden Source. These scribes were selected as children and raised in the citadel. After entering the White Citadel for the first time, they were never again permitted to see the outside world. That was the way it had been before her arrival; the traditions of the Forbidden Source Scribes was sacred to them, and she had refrained from insisting on another option.

There were few outside of the Shields that had Celeste's permission to enter the Forbidden Source. What brought her here now, after nearly two years of absence, was one of the special individuals that had earned entrance to the Forbidden Source. If word got out of that person's admittance, it would cause many sore tempers, and fuel the ill-intended rumors that she knew had begun to simmer in the conversations of the nobles.

The scribe peeled the door back, his waxy skin shining against yellow candlelight, giving a sickly sheen to his pale face. Bowing stiffly, the scribe murmured a greeting and offered a candle. Celeste accepted it gratefully. Though there were no windows on this level, slit-viewports along the higher half of the walls brought in some light. The majority of the lighting in the Forbidden Source came from candles. That was something she was not fond of; studying by candlelight lost its romantic appeal rather quickly, and it did not favors to the eyesight of the mortal races. Still, it was a tradition she refused to touch. Should she desire open light, she only had to inform the scribes she would be taking an article to the third level. Much like she was about to do.

As she passed through the Forbidden Source, her gaze swept first to the magical items arrayed to her left. There were enough spellbooks to keep a person such as herself busy for three lifetimes. To have that much knowledge at her fingers, but lack the time to give it proper study… a sigh that had repeated many times in this very spot spilled from her lips.

Approaching the stairs that led to the third level, the Null Source, Celeste placed a flower on the scale beside the gate. It was a sunlight breezleaf, a rare flower that sprouted for only three days each year, deep in the forested glens of Ansur. LuuLuu delivered one to Celeste every year, a token of the halfling's respect. Harvesting a sunlight breezeleaf required incredible patience and skill. The live stems were glass-like and fragile; a single moment of misapplied pressure could shatter the whole flower. Once plucked, however, they hardened into a substance with the same durability as marble, and reflected the sunlight the flower had absorbed for months after its harvesting. An intact sunlight breezeleaf could fetch a fair sum on the open market. LuuLuu's delivery represented a display of charity and friendship befitting the noble and garrulous halfling Shield.

After a moment of weighing, the scale shifted, rotating inwards. The scribe behind the gate nodded firmly, the only acknowledgement of the offering's worthiness, and took the sunlight breezeleaf with silk-gloved hands. Placing the flower in a cushioned container, he closed the lid and placed it in its slot on the wall behind the stairs. Twenty four similar offerings lined the wall, each small but meaningful gifts provided by a supplicant seeking the Null Source. Celeste accounted for six of those herself. Claudia Levantine had come here twice. And now the one just before this flower. Nine of the twenty five. The remainder came from before Celeste's time. Truly, the Null Source was a special place among special places.

"Gratitude" Celeste intoned, bowing reverently to the scribe. "I will not be long."

It did not matter how much time she spent in the Null Source. After the campaign for the Scarred Tooth Pass, she had retreated into the Null Source for twenty days, desperate for the wisdom and solitude it provided. One could stay for a minute or a year, and the scribes would dutifully provide nourishment and whatever else was requested. The only requirement was that the sanctity of the Null Source be honored.

The gate slid to the side, and Celeste ascended the stairs and entered the Null Source.

It was a truly beautiful place, if lonely. Though she knew the walls surrounding the Null Source were as solid as the rest of the tower, the room appeared open to the world around it. In every direction, the land of Eostia stretched before her. Its fertile fields, sprawling towns, and rich forests teased her eyes, hinting at the truth of the land outside. To her right, seeming so close she could reach out and touch it, the walled city of Bold Fortune hummed with life. But as she turned her head that vision faded, vanishing into the distance, launched from her like a rock from a sling. Everywhere her eyes turned, the land leapt away, escaping her attention. That was how it was in the Null Source. The world pressed around her, closer than it possibly ever could, yet it remained impotently out of reach. A trick of the magic that infused the Null Source, she assumed. The secrets of this room's creation had been lost with its founding.

Forcing the haunting visions in her peripherals aside, Celeste cleared her throat and approached the lone figure in the room. Sitting cross-legged in the center of the room, her dark hair tucked over one shoulder, the Dark Queen Olga Discordia listened to the world around her, and studied in the oblivion of the Null Source.

"I did not know this room allowed visitors" Olga whispered softly, her voice barely passing her lips. The words rebounded through the room, echoing off of the distant mountains of Garan.

"I do not know if it has been attempted before" Celeste admitted.

The dark elf chuckled softly, an unhappy and derisive sound that Celeste recognized far too easily after Olga's return to Eostia. It was the laugh of a bitter, jaded woman. A woman who had lost all hope in the goodness of life.

Lifting her hands, Olga pressed them together then drew back. The scene before them shifted, and a moment of unease clouded Celeste's thoughts as her vision hurtled forwards, sight flying over miles and miles of land in a single breath. Her legs wavered, and her belly ached as the speed of it threatened to undo her composure. Taking a sharp breath, she blinked away the dizziness and listened to Olga's next words.

"Do you remember?"

When her vision cleared, and the halting momentum of the vision stabilized, Celeste gazed about and gasped in surprise. They stood in a glen, a gentle and empty clearing surrounded by thickly-leaved trees. On the one side, a stream passed through with a quiet murmur. She could smell the animals frolicking just out of sight. She could feel the warmth of the sun kissing her skin.

"This is where we met" Celeste stated. A soft smile creased her lips as she stretched out her hand to run through the tall grass. The greenery retreated from her touch, remaining just out of reach. Undeterred, she padded up to her companion's side and sat down beside her, slipping down to rest on her knees.

Olga's eyes were closed, brows furrowed in concentration. The sight, though now familiar, reminded Celeste of how much they had changed. For the longest time there had not been a thing in the world that could take the smile from her dark elf friend's face. For twenty short, wonderful years the two of them had been close as blood-sisters. Olga's mesmerizing smile had never faded, and worry had never crossed her mind, much less dampened her enthusiasm.

"You thought I was a wildling" Olga muttered. The sound did not come from her mouth, but rustled in the grass behind her.

"I was terrified" Celeste admitted. She wanted to put an arm over the dark elf's shoulders, but held back. Such an intimate gesture would not be well received by this new Olga. Their friendship, she feared, was long past. It could not be the same again. Not like it had been. She remembered the day Olga's smile fell. The day the beautiful dark elf's soul had shattered in abject horror and agony.

"You should have run away" the voice gurgled, now rising from the stream.

"I could never leave you behind" the high elf promised. "We are soulmates. You said it yourself. Two souls, bound tight by the threads of fate."

"Childish nonsense." The dark elf's eyes eased open, slowly taking in the scene around them. Breathing in deeply, slowly, Olga gave the slightest shake of her head. "I was a fool. We were both fools."

"The prerogative of children is to be foolish" Celeste countered gently. Folding her hands in her lap, she remained content to watch the silent glen. The wind caressed her face, or she imagined it would have. Relishing the remembered scents of the glen, she pondered Olga's dark turn.

Mournival.

One of the greatest cities in the dark elf empire, Mournival had been the southernmost trade city, and a wealthy and wonderful center of culture and the arts as well. Olga's family, the royal family of Garan, had retreated to Mournival following the loss of Garan to the demons. From there they watched the border and sought ways to retake their homeland. Thousands of elves drew to their banners, lured by the promise of glory and wealth and fame in cleansing Garan from the taint of the demons.

Of course, as powerful as the dark elves were, the demons were more numerous than the sand on the seashore. In the midst of preparations for an invasion into Garan, while Celeste and Olga were across the empire enjoying their youth, the demons attacked Mournival. The question still remained whether the demons had known of the threat being raised against them, and even if some vile treachery had betrayed Olga's family. It hardly mattered. Ten thousand dark elves had formed under the banners of Garan. It was estimated afterwards that the demon ranks had counted over one hundred thousand.

Against such odds, the dark elves stood no chance. The city was overrun in mere days, and every living soul in the city fell to the horrific clutches of the demons Olga's family was butchered; her brothers impaled on stakes lining the Gate of Sorrows. Her mother and sisters…

The dark elves lacked the power to retake the city from such indescribable numbers Abandoning any thought of liberating the city to despair, the most powerful mages in the empire came together and formed the most powerful, most destructive spell in the history of the empire. Mournival was consumed in fire, and the demons perished in a conflagration that burned the city to cinders in one day.

Olga never smiled after that day. Never again. Not like she had, at least. This new smile, a cruel and bitter thing, was but a mockery of the happiness she had once known.

The silence broke when Olga reached out and idly to the next page of the tome in her lap. Curiosity drew Celeste to the motion, and she pursed her lips at the unfamiliar book.

"Ganjru Sur" Olga stated, answering the unspoken question. "His treatise on the nature of time, and how magic flows through it."

"Time?" The Goddess shivered at the thought. "You can't be… Olga, that is not allowed."

"What is not allowed? To read this book?"

The mocking tone in Olga's voice clawed at Celeste's heart. She desperately wished for her friend to see sense. No good could come from this.

"Time is immutable. We know this, Olga. _You_ know this. To attempt otherwise is to invite ruin."

"Ruin?" Olga let out a bark of laughter that sounded almost ghoulish in its insincerity. "Ruin? Celeste, what do you know of ruin?"

Rising suddenly, Olga set the book on the grass and faced the high elf. A simmering fury boiled in her eyes, held in check only by her innate dignity and decorum. Gesturing about them, Olga sneered and transfixed Celeste with her hawkish stare.

"What is left, Celeste? The demons butchered my family for sport, and how did I respond? I went, and _I sacrificed_ one hundred years of my life to keep those godless bastards locked away in Garan as best I could. I gave up my youth, I gave up my family, and I gave up my power to stuff those creatures in the darkest corners of Garan I could manage. One hundred years, knowing that any given day I could wake up with my room full of orcs mad with lust and violence. Can you imagine that, Celeste? No, you spent those same years in this white tower with your white walls and your friends and y..."

Unable to hold back, Celeste leapt to her feet. Throwing her arms around her friend, the Goddess wrapped the shaking dark elf in her arms and held her tightly. For a moment, Olga went stiff, her muscles frozen in shock at the unexpected move. Then, slowly, the tension eased from her limbs and her slim hands clutched at Celeste's shoulders.

"I did not have you" Celeste murmured. She pressed her lips to Olga's shoulder, kissed the dark elf's caramel skin, then nuzzled against her face. "I missed you every day, Olga. I felt so sorry for you."

"..." Olga did not return her embrace. Letting the high elf cling to her for a short time, Olga merely held her silence. When she pushed back a step, clearing the space between them, the cold mask remained just as it had been. "We are no longer children, Celeste. Those youthful thoughts deserve to remain in the past, where you can look on them fondly. Do not try and bring them to life again. It will only hurt you."

"You tell me to leave my memories behind" Celeste murmured, hurt crossing her face. Her chest tightened, and her breathing grew short as the pain filled her. She could feel the tears forming in her eyes. "But this is where I find you? Studying the ramblings of a madman? Gods, Olga, it can't be done. It has been tried, and it always ended in calamity. You want me to leave the past behind, but you cannot do it yourself."

"Would you turn from the chance to right your wrongs" Olga challenged, unbothered by the obvious hurt Celeste felt. "What have you to gain from the past? You have your power, your friends, your love and loyalty. All that I had is behind me. Am I mad to seek a way to see my mother again? Or to hear my brothers' laughter?"

"It will kill you" Celeste breathed.

"And then?" Olga's mask cracked just slightly, a hint of emotion bleeding into her tone. Her tone fell, growing soft and distant. "Then I will join my family in the afterlife. And you will be rid of the Dark Queen of Garan."

Tears trickled freely down her cheeks. Celeste wrung her hands helplessly. "You can't mean that."

"I assure you, I have no intention of dying." The former queen's composure returned, sliding back over her face like water. Returning to her seated position, she reopened the book. "Do not concern yourself on my account, Celeste."

The dismissal in the dark elf's tone could have been ignored. Celeste was the Goddess, after all. But she would not press Olga for this. She could not.

She could only pray for her.

 **-v-**

 **The Long Way Pub**

The flames had been quenched by the time they arrived. In a city built by wood, fire was a dangerous hazard that all understood and feared. Carefully placed wells and pumps could always be found, and in event of a fire the inhabitants would always flock to put fires out before they could spread. Needless to say, when a popular establishment caught on fire, the whole neighborhood would turn out to put the flames down.

Maia pushed through the assembled crowd, following the dark figure of Louk Shannegh as he parted the people with practiced ease. The locals eyed them both in curiosity, but on recognizing her they scattered back, unwilling to be close to the Shield. Maia represented the reach of the Goddess, after all, and while she had little doubt these people worshipped Celeste, that did not mean they wanted her attention. Criminality was the way of life in Bold Fortune, after all. Good people did bad things every day in this city.

Reaching the front of the crowd, Maia gazed at the relatively untouched front of the Long Way Pub and breathed a sigh of relief. There was little visible damage, which meant the fire had been little, and contained. That did not mean anything for the safety of those inside, but it meant there was less chance of danger. Hesitating only because her new commander did, Maia stood by his side and surveyed the surrounding faces, seeking out any who appeared suspicious or lingering.

"Bastards" Maia muttered. She did not know for certain who had done this, but the simplest answer was often the most reliable. The crowd appeared ordinary, however, and apart from those avoiding her gaze for obvious reasons the locals showed no suspicious signs.

A few men stomped out of the pub, carrying emptied buckets. They were the last of the fire fighters, it appeared, and they had grim looks on their faces. But none appeared terribly burned, or smoked.

"Are you satisfied?"

The gruff question was clearly aimed at her. Maia blinked once, then shook her head.

"Are you saying this was my fault?"

"We'll find out" came his reply. Turning to gaze over the crowd, Louk grabbed a young man by his shirt and dragged him forwards. "You, who did this?"

The one he grabbed had the look of a street rat. Young, lean, but tougher than he appeared, Maia would have bet the boy had grown up thieving and fighting on the streets. But he paled at Louk's stare, and stammered helplessly.

"It… I didn't see nothing! Honest, wasn't nobody here when I came by."

"Hm." Louk glanced at Maia, then nodded towards the pub. "Let's take a look." Thank you for the answer."

Pushing the boy back into the crowd, Louk turned and started forwards. Maia followed close, keeping her head on a swivel to see if any reacted to Louk's questioning. Only the boy, who loudly announced he hadn't said anything, as if afraid there were people listening in to report on his words.

Coward. They were all cowards. But that was to be expected in a place like Bold Fortune. The brave died young here. Or they got out and did not come back until they had power.

Stepping into the pub, Maia immediately smelled the spilled alcohol and sourced the fire. Somebody had smashed half the bottles on the counter behind the bar. That was where the fire had started. The place had not been thoroughly ransacked, however. And the flames had not spread very far. Tables remained upright, though chairs had clearly been pushed back in a hurry. No, this was not a looting or a ransacking. This had been a message.

Louk stepped behind the bar without hesitation. Studying the burnt wood with clinical seriousness, he let his attention sweep across it in a smooth, predatory motion. Nothing escaped his gaze, Maia was sure of it. The man had the intensity of a hawk out for food. If there were signs, he would find them. Though Maia was not terribly sure what would have been left.

"I'll check the back" Maia told him, uncertain if he was even listening. A hand waved dismissively, and she hurried through the kitchen door. The door wavered, she noted; one of the hinges had been loosened. Something had struck it powerfully.

In the kitchen, her heart caught in her throat for a bare moment. For the most part, it had remained untouched. Food remained on the center table, partway through preparation. A pot of water hissed and bubbled on one of their stoves, boiling over for lack of attendance. It appeared as if the cooks had vacated the place in a hurry, perhaps retreating out the back door or into the private rooms down the hall.

She smelled blood. That was a scent that, once accustomed to it, could not be easily overlooked. Drawing just one blade, Maia held it at the ready and stalked through the kitchen, heading for the hallway. It came stronger from that direction. At the exit, she found the trail.

Somebody had been stabbed, or slashed. There was little spray, just a consistent trail of blood that started just inside the room and led haltingly into the nearest room. Maia sniffed once, and determined it was not freshly spilled. Not old blood, in fact it was still wet on the wood, but neither could she expect an armed man around the corner. Following the trail into the next room, she eased the unlocked door aside.

A man lay in the center of the room, blood staining his shirt. The source of it, a simple but deep stab wound to the gut, could not be mistaken. His death-face showed incredible pain, and despair. Maia recognized him easily enough. He was one of the owners of the pub. After they had chased away Morgan and his men, this one had come out of the back sporting a bruised jaw. It seemed he had tried to intervene on Grace's behalf and taken a serious blow for it. This time, they had done worse. Pity filled her heart, and she struggled to recall his name.

Ian. Anna's husband.

She had little doubt who had done this now.

Kneeling beside the man, Maia sheathed her blade and covered him with a sheet from the nearby bed. There was no sign of either of the elves. They wouldn't be here. Beautiful elves like those two would never be killed outright. No, they would have been taken captive. She had seen it before. But Morgan must have been out of his mind to think something like this would go over with the VarGolems. What was he thinking?

He wasn't, was the easy answer. His pride had taken a wound, a wound that Maia had instigated. Though, she could not think of a better way to have handled it. As far as she had seen, the man had been intent on making a move on the dark elf regardless of their intervention. Maia should have taken the matter straight to the Clan. That might have prevented this, but she doubted it. The only that stopped a thug was a bigger thug. And there was no way Louk Shannegh would have agreed to remain behind and guard this place for any length of time. After all, that was not what they were here for.

"Damn it" she cursed. The elves would be… somewhere. Either Morgan would keep them, if he felt truly foolish, or turn them over to the VarGolems for profit. She had no doubt that the two would fetch a staggering price in the underworld. More likely, though, the VarGolems would keep the two for personal use. The heads of the Clans were civilized enough, for criminals. It might not go too badly for them if the VarGolems took them in. Hell, the way Grace cooked she could even have a good career as a cook for them.

No, that was foolish thinking. A sane man did not strike out like this. This was purely Morgan's doing, and he would keep it in-house, so to speak. They had to find those women.

In the corner, a faint sniffling sound emerged from a wardrobe. Maia stiffened, listening to the sound, and turned slowly. It sounded young, terrified. Not either of the elves, she knew. But the high elf had claimed they had two young girls that worked in the kitchens. Gods, she hadn't even thought of those two.

"Come out" Maia ordered, keeping her voice firm but soft. "My name is Maia. I am a Shield of the Goddess Celeste. I mean you no harm."

The wardrobe creaked open, and two wide-eyed girls staggered out of their hiding place. Both were young, too young to draw lustful stares from men like Morgan. Perhaps that was why they were still here. Or, more likely, they had hidden here when the whole incident went down. Regardless, they eyed her with apprehension, and approached with the same nervousness of a doe in the sights of a hunter. She wished she had words to comfort them. But nothing came to mind.

"He's… Ian's dead" one asked, voice barely more than a whisper.

"I am sorry" Maia told her. Wrapping an arm around each, she hugged them comfortingly. They melted into her, and like a faucet unplugged, the tears burst out. Their soft bodies trembled as they wept, shaking weakly, pouring out their fear on her shoulders. Maia let them cry for some time. They were young, and this was a cruel world. Maia had tasted it herself at a far younger age then they had.

"What happened to Miss Anna and Miss Grace" one asked, her face streaked with tears.

"We don't know yet, but we will find them" Maia assured them both. "Are either of you hurt?"

"Ian had sent us in here to clean up before suppertime" the other said. "We heard voices, and saw the man stab Ian. Then we hid in the wardrobe."

"That was good thinking" Maia promised. "Keeping yourselves safe."

"He did right there. We could have helped him."

"Not without a physician. Gut wounds are hard to stem." The delivery of the words sounded harsh in her own ears, but Maia was not going to lie to these two. Easing free of them, she sized them up. "Do you have family nearby?"

One nodded faintly.

"Go to them. Get out of here, rest. Take some food on the way out if you need to. And…" she picked out her coin purse and pulled a few silver from them. Giving each girl four pieces, she bid them leave. "This should tide you over until you find other work. Please, take care of yourselves."

"Thank you, Miss Maia."

They thanked her tearfully, then hurried out of the room. Maia followed at a slower pace, her guard relaxed now. No enemies remained to worry her. The next step was to find Morgan, and rescue those women. Her palms tingled at the promise of violence. The arrogant way the man had talked down to her incensed her. He was nothing! Just a cowardly, slimy scum of a faithless cur that abandoned the Black Dogs at the first sign of trouble. She could not wait to get her hands around his throat and squeeze…

The girls went out the back door, and Maia returned to the main room. She paused in the doorway, eyeing the four men in the middle of the room, squared off against Louk Shannegh behind the bar. Her companion had both hands on the bar, and she thought she spotted something glinting under his palm, but her attention remained fixed on the newcomers.

They bore VarGolem patches. One of them had been with Morgan earlier in the day.

"So there are two of you" the man announced, letting his gaze shift between Louk and Maia. "Well, then. This can go down one of two ways. This place is done for. Looks to me like the owners up and left. That means the place is abandoned, and salvage rights go to the VarGolems. So you can leave, and we'll go about our business. Or you can try to stay, and we'll make you leave."

"We have guests" Louk grunted, casting Maia a sideways glance. "You want this one?"

"Don't mind if I do" Maia growled. Gripping her swords, but leaving them sheathed, she stalked into the middle of the room and took in the four men. "VarGolem, then. You have one chance to walk out of here."

The man scoffed, and drew his weapon. It was a short mace, with a thick and well-crafted metal head. Not a blade, which would most likely hinder him in cramped quarters like this. As far as he thought, she knew. A real swordsman could take a blade in any situation. The others had a mix of weapons, mostly blunt. They were thugs, after all. Not killers. That was a mistake.

The lead man lunged, and Maia drew her sword in a savage, slicing upstroke. His mace sailed past her into a table, and his hand smacked wetly into the floor beside it.

A stunned howl split the air as the man stumbled, staggering to the side as he lost his balance. Snatching out her had, she grabbed him by the hair and slammed him into one of the support pillars. The sturdy wood held, bracing him as she swept her blade across his throat. Hot blood washed over her, and for a dizzying moment it came with the heady sensation of life drenching her face. A pleasant shudder swept over her. Her heart raced with the thrill of the kill.

Confused by the sudden death of their leader, the remaining three circled her, none wanting to be the first to rush in. Louk Shannegh remained behind the bar, watching the fight with the cold expression of a teacher observing a failed student. That indifference brought a hint of anger to cloud her enthusiasm, and Maia spared a moment to glare back at him.

Then two of the men lunged desperately at her, swinging their clubs. The third, armed with a short sword, followed a moment later. They came at her from three directions in ungainly disharmony. Had it been coordinated, it might have been a problem.

Stepping into one of the club-wielders, Maia threw up and elbow and shattered his nose. A backhanded thrust behind her impaled the second through the throat. A frantic heartbeat later she hooked her arm around the first's neck, and twisted savagely to spin him into the path of the swordsman. The breathless gasp of shock exploded by her ear as thug's sword took his comrade through the chest. Swinging her sword hand back around in a wide arc, she turned the blade at the last moment and thrust her blade into the side of the swordsman's neck, angling downwards into his chest.

The three bodies hit the ground at about the same moment. Maia surveyed their corpses with satisfaction, soured only by the knowledge that Louk's expression had not changed. Four foes, with hardly any effort. That was the sort of killing ability warriors aspired to. But Louk Shannegh did not bat an eye.

She wondered idly how he might have done it.

"I'm going" Louk told her, as if resuming a conversation that had been rudely interrupted. Coming around the bar, he stepped over the dead with careless ease. "Stay here and keep the looters out."

"Where are you going?"

"To find the elves" he answered.

"How will you find them? You don't know the city."

"But I know who does." Regarding her with a deadpan stare, he gestured about. "That was good work there. Keep the vermin out."

And with that, Louk Shannegh vanished into the streets, leaving Maia with the dead and the empty pub. Sighing in frustration, Maia stared about, and let out a groan. There wasn't much to do, so she crouched down and picked up the first corpse. Might as well clean the place up a bit. The bodies could stay out in the alley for a bit anyways. Taught the bastards right for coming at her.

 **-v-**

 **House of VarGolem**

Siegfried VarGolem grew up in the fighting pits. Though one of the vaunted VarGolem family members, it had been at his father's insistence. The family always needed a violent man, a strong man to keep the workers in line. It was Siegfried that had been chosen, as well as four of his extended siblings and cousins. Together they were raised in violence, bred to fight, and to kill. At the tender age of ten, those that had survived were pitted against each other, with only one survivor. He had been the last of the five. And he had taken the mantle as the family's fist.

In his life he had claimed three hundred lives. Killing was as natural to him as breathing. There were perhaps two others in Bold Fortune that could stand against him in a fight. Bearkiller, the champion of the Spearo Clan, and the Shield, Maia. Other than that, he had little to fear in the city. His personal strength and his family's power made for a very stable environment. To his regret, that also meant he had little opportunity to challenge himself.

Today he sat behind his desk, reading over illegible reports from his street bosses detailing the comings and goings of suspicious characters. It was dull reading. Most of the information that mattered he received through better sources. The family's spies were quite good. The VarGolem information network had been woven like a spider's web over countless generations. He even knew that the new hire, Morgan, had been circling that little attraction in the west district. The Long Way Pub. Nice place, for what it was. He had gone there once, incognito. The alcohol was passable, the food better, but the main attraction had been that dazzling high elf behind the bar and the sultry dark elf server. Yes, that was a place he had considered passing on to his sister for recruitment. Only reason he had held back was he didn't want to make a fuss over the place. The people needed places to blow off steam, to relax and be told the world was alright.

The key to ruling was to keep the people complacent. A place like that pub had an undeniable impact on its neighborhood.

A faint shudder interrupted his thoughts. He glanced up from the desk, eyes darting to the ceiling to watch the faint clouds of dust dislodged from their corners. Confusion held him for a moment, then another faint shiver wracked the house.

Oh, so they were under attack. That was lovely.

"Can't be helped" he muttered, easing the chair back. His weapons, a thrusting sword and a fighting axe, always remained at his side. Snatching them up, he made his way around the desk and headed towards the door, musing about the identity of the attackers as he did.

Spearo? Their informants had said nothing, but if the Spearo truly wanted to launch a surprise attack, they had the wiles to do it. Certainly not the merchants or nobles. Those fools didn't have the courage. So Spearo, then. He could have fun with that.

He had made it halfway across the room when the door exploded inwards. Startled by the unexpected event, he scurried backwards, raising his weapons in warding, prepared to receive a foe. They mangled, limp form of one of the family guards rolled across the carpet, blood pouring from a sucking chest wound One arm had been torn completely off. Or, he thought it had. The body had been so thoroughly brutalized he could hardly recognize it.

Preparing for trouble, he moved further away from the door and waited. People were fighting in the hallway. He could hear several men, and lots of screaming. Screams of pain and fear. A rash man would have rushed in to join the fray, but Siegfried was not a rash man. Better to let the enemies bleed themselves on the guards first, then hit them when they were weakened.

After only a few moments, the clash of battle quieted, and a few lingering moans drifted into the room before being systematically silenced. He grimaced and waited. What came through the doorway was not what he had expected. It was not an army of assassins, or Spearo's Bearkiller. Nor was it armored soldiers, mercenaries, or even monsters. It was just… a man.

He was a tall figure, clothed in a heavy jacket that reached to his boots. Underneath that jacket, he wore thick trousers and a plain shirt, with a sheathed sword of ornate quality on one hip and a strange bulky metal device on the other. Though holding no weapon, his fists were coated in blood, and Siegfried knew instantly that this man had killed those in the hallway.

"Who are you" he demanded.

The lone intruder turned to stare at him, and Siegfried could not suppress the involuntary shudder that swept up his spine. Those eyes… they were not human eyes. There was a burning fury in them, an inhuman hunger that set his teeth on edge and whispered at his courage to flee. He trembled for a moment, forgetting himself. Then, steeling his courage, he pointed the sword accusingly.

"Takes balls to step in the VarGolem house without an invitation. Put words to tongue, or I'll have to teach you for your impudence."

"Morgan" the man growled. His voice reverberated through the room, a gruesome bubbling like blood filled his throat. "Where is he?"

"... that's… you came into _my house_ to seek out that runt?" Siegfried could not hold in a bark of uneasy laughter. "You have a real strange way of asking for directions."

"My patience has been worn thin" the man answered.

He took a step towards Siegfried. Siegfried retreated two without realizing it. His breathing quickened, and an unbearable pressure built in his skull. It was a dull, throbbing pain. Like the world was closing in, the room tightening and the air was being squeezed out.

"And why would I tell you that? You killed my men. I'll kill you for that."

"No, you won't." The man hardly seemed to move, but suddenly he stood right in Siegfried's face. A bloody hand closed on his throat and lifted him effortlessly into the air. The VarGolem fighter let out a strangled gasp as his feet kicked helplessly, weapons forgotten in a stabbing panic as his throat closed under the man's iron grasp. Held this close, he could feel the heat radiating off the man's eyes. They burned with fire he could not see, but scorched his skin.

This was not a man, Siegfried realized. It was not human. Those fiery eyes swirled with an otherworldly power, and like a portal sliding open, the veil parted and Siegfried saw the beast behind the mask.

" _Where is Morgan_ " the thing asked again, voice flat and emotionless.

The room shook with the power of his words.

And Siegfried told him everything.

 **-v-**

There were no more tears to shed. Her throat burned from sobbing, eyes ached from crying, and every muscle in her limbs screamed from the tightness of her bindings. Strapped down to the chair, arms pinned behind it and legs tied to the front legs, she could hardly move save to breathe, but the pain was nothing. She could have endured this a thousand times over, and wept through every moment of it. But she would have done it gladly to spare her the horrific sight in front of her.

Anna's empty, listless eyes gaped at a point behind her, unfocused and unblinking. The meek high elf's body lay bare for the world to see, and her ivory body showed bruises from the rough handling. Her tears had run dry a long time ago, now replaced by that lifeless stupor as her body was violated over and over by the bastard. Every thrust shook the bed, rocking it back and forth on its worn legs, and every thrust sent ripples through the gentle elf's body.

Unable to move for her bindings, Grace could only watched in horror as the man continued, ramming against her friend over and over. His savage lust was that of an animal, and he clearly knew no mercy. Her pitiful cries had been met with slaps and violence, smothering her in threats that left Anna's spirit broken and her body breaking. For some time now, Anna had lain there motionless, defeated, and Grace's soul broke in her chest at the sight of it.

With a last few thrusts, Morgan grunted out an oath and grabbed Anna cruelly by the hips. His dirty fingers clawed at her unblemished flesh, holding her tight against him, and he surged inside the limp high elf with a satisfied groan. There was no response on Anna's face. No horror, not fear, no disgust. It was as if she was dead. Grace closed her eyes, willing herself to not cry again.

"Gods, I think I'm keeping this one" Morgan said with a laugh. He eased off the bed, and Anna slumped bonelessly onto the sheets. Running one rough hand over her exposed buttocks, he glanced over at Grace and offered an unhandsome smile. "That prick was a lucky bastard, having this cunt to himself. Bastard deserved what he got. What do you think, Gracie? I can't believe you and her haven't fooled around while the husband was out and about."

"Go… to hell" Grace murmured, unwilling to look him in the eye. That was what had cost Anna. Grace had dared challenge the man here, in this very room. When he went to strike Grace for her insolence, Anna had stepped between them and begged for mercy. The pig responded by stripping her naked and taking her right there, in front of Grace. She prayed with all her might that the gods would strike him down. That he would die slowly and in terrible pain.

"Really? Are you telling me you never got a taste of this?" He spread Anna's buttocks wide, revealing her battered nakedness. "Because this is the kind of cunt you can't buy anywhere. Hell, I have a hard time believing she wasn't a virgin from how tight she was."

"I will kill you" Grace whispered, not daring to raise her voice. Morgan's grin faded, replaced by a cruel and hard expression.

"Now, you aren't looking to thankful for your pal here. I might even think you are jealous. After all, she got to have some fun while you had to sit here and watch." He stepped closer, not caring how he trod on Anna's torn clothes scattered across the floor. Unashamed of his naked, sweating body, he leaned down in front of Grace. His musky odor filled Grace's nostrils, making her want to gag. "How about you and me get to know each other a little better now?"

"I'd rather kill myself" she snapped, head lowered and turned away.

Morgan remained silent for a moment. Then his hand came down and slapped her across the cheek. The strength of the blow set stars bursting in her eyes, and she nearly toppled over in her chair.

"You ungrateful bitch! I gave you an easy in. I gave you time for a simple answer. But you, you stupid cow, you just can't understand the opportunity I was offering." His hand darted under her legs and yanked. The chair tipped backwards, and her vision spun as she tumbled over. Pain exploded in the back of her skull as she struck the floor. "You want to say no? Then fine, have it your way. But not before I take this stupid slut of a high elf and pass her around in the barracks. I'd bet the whole district would take a turn with her if I put her on t-"

"Leave her alone you bastard!"

Her lungs emptied with the cry, and Grace's vision blurred with fresh tears. A low, helpless moan spilled from her struggling lungs.

Morgan appeared over her, gazing down with that cruel expression. He knelt, slowly, and lowered his head until his face hovered just over hers. "What's that? Are you giving me an order?"

"Please" she whispered. Terror flooded through her as one hand closed softly on her throat. Morgan squeezed slowly, just enough to apply pressure. Her heart felt like it would explode in her chest.

"That's what I want to hear" he cooed. His fingers tightened just a little. She gasped as her attempt to breathe did little more than choke in her throat. "Your precious little friend. You want to keep her safe? Then beg me. Beg like a good little whore."

"Please" she tried again, fighting to draw air through her constricted throat. Black spots spread in her vision, and she trembled helplessly as her feet kicked in the air. " _please._ "

"Please… what?"

" _don... hur… ...na._ "

"What will you do to protect your friend?" His breath raked her face, and had her eyes not already closed, she might have winced. Empty lungs clawed inside her chest, and she began to shudder from lack of air.

" _...nyth…"_

"I own you now, bitch" Morgan growled into her ear. His hand released suddenly, and Grace gasped fitfully for breath. A rush of heat spilled out from between her hips, and she nearly passed out from the shock of it. Grateful for air, she gulped down breath after breath, whole face burning with shame as the warmth trickled across her belly. Morgan did not seem to notice, or care. "You could have come to me as an equal. Now you're just my plaything. So know this. I am going to use you in ways you could not believe. I am going to hurt you for making me wait. You will know pain. You will know suffering. But I'm going to teach you such pleasure your pathetic little mind will break for want of me. And when I'm done with you, I'm going to pass you off to the barracks, and you'll disappear in the crowd like the forgotten slut that you are."

She hardly understood his words anymore. Morgan dragged her back to the upright position by her shoulders, and fiddled behind her back for a moment as he undid her bindings. When she was released, she did not dare run. She could not protect Anna, not like this. Morgan was strong, and evil, and she could not see a way to fight him.

"Get on the bed" he demanded.

Her body trembled as she limped over to the bed. Anna gazed emptily up at her. Unable to bear to pain of looking at her friend's bruised body, Grace turned her head, and climbed onto the bed with slow, hesitant movements.

"That's more like it" Morgan crowed. She felt his presence suddenly behind her, and his hands clamped down on her hips. "Damn, but you're actually a pretty skinny cow. What happened to you, I wonder. You're thin as a stick, but your hips are just right and your tits are huge. I'll need to put some meat on your bones so I can enjoy you properly."

A wandering hand slipped under her dress. Grace flinched, and covered her mouth to hide the cry that attempted to burst out. She prayed that the gods would cast a divine bolt of fire to consume Morgan in the next moment. But where were the gods? They had remained silent as Anna was ravaged before her very eyes.

An urgent knock on the door gave Morgan pause. Grace let out a long breath at the interruption, and rolled onto her hip to regard the door with hopeful intent. All it would take was a single good person to-

"What is it" Morgan demanded. HIs hand dragged up her back, finding a resting spot on her bared shoulder. Tugging her closer, he pressed her face against his side. He was not quite hard again, for which she thanked the gods.

The door swung open, and Grace's hopes were dashed. One of Morgan's men stood in the hall, armed and armored as he had been when they had sauntered into the Long Way Pub. The man's attention drifted over her enviously for a moment, his lust shining for a moment, before continuing on to Anna.

"Pardon, Morgan, but there's a man at the entrance, He's got Siegfried's seal."

"Then let him in, you daft idiot" Morgan snarled.

"Yeah, boss."

The messenger lingered for a moment, eyeing Grace as if he might ask to join in. But Morgan shooed him away and slammed the door in his face. With his back turned, Grace cast about for the knife he had used to cut her bindings. Hadn't he used one? She could not tell. Her heart was racing so fast she could hardly think straight.

"Where do you think you're going" Morgan demanded, pressing a hand on her collarbone. A forceful shove sent her flopping back onto the bed. "Spread your legs for me, Gracie. It's about time I introduce you t-"

A loud crash rang out from the downstairs, loud enough that they heard it clearly from the sealed room. Morgan froze, and his expression went neutral as he listened to the sound. While Grace had better hearing, he had more experience with the sort of thing, and so they both reached the same conclusion at the same moment.

Trouble.

Her heart soared at the thought, though she did not know who or what could be downstairs.

An explosive curse rattled her as Morgan leapt back from the bed and hastily started shoving his legs into his trousers. A ruckus had started downstairs. It sounded like fighting, but she could not be sure. Morgan had thirty men here, under his command. At least twenty were in, though she did not know how many were about in the district or on jobs. There weren't many who would dare attack a VarGolem district house either. The fear of reprisal was a real thing in Bold Fortune. The Grand Clans did not shy away from public executions and revenge killings.

"This is just not my day" Morgan grumbled. Still barefoot, he buckled on his sword belt and reached for his shirt. Grace remained on the bed, rooted to the spot, unwilling and unable to bring herself to move. The sounds were coming closer, growing more frantic and clear with each passing second. A screech of pain rang unnaturally loud for a second, and Grace flinched at the horrific noise. If it were one of Morgan's, she felt no pity for him. But the sound was terrible to hear. Like a whining dog that had been kicked by its master, or a child wailing at a mother's funeral.

Several loud thumping sounds echoed in quick succession. It sounded like boots coming up the stairs, and bodies tumbling down them. Morgan stared at the door for a long moment, his face contorted in calculations. Then, rushing forwards, he grabbed Grace by the hair and dragged her protesting to the far side of the room. His sword came up, pressed against her throat.

"Don't even think about making a noise." His voice ground in her ear, and she had to fight the nauseous feeling that swept over her at the sensation of a blade on her skin.

The outside fell silent for a few tense seconds. Then the tip of a sword punch through the door. Grace nearly bit her tongue to stop her scream. Her body jumped, and the sword nicked her skin. Blood trickled through the hole in the door, dripping from the sword. It swung open, pushed by the weight of an armored VarGolem soldier. The man's body had been impaled by the same sword, and hung limp on the door like a sacrificial offering.

The sight of the dead man filled her stomach, and she fought to hold the vomit down as the rancid stench of death poured into the room. Morgan pushed her a step forwards, angling for a better look at the hallway outside. But the source of the ruckus came to them, stomping into the room with terrifyingly smooth steps.

It was Louk Shannegh, but he was so very different from the one that had intervened at the Long Way Pub. That man had been odd, gruff, but kind in his own way. Certain that the man had a wonderful smile, she had tried to ease it out of him with jokes and kind words. He was handsome too, and for a few hours she had entertained herself with flights of fancy of having him as a regular at their pub.

This Louk Shannegh… her heart stopped in her chest as the wrathful fury in his expression transfixed her. There was no anger at her, rather it shot past her to the man holding her at swordpoint. But the darkness poured out from him. It hit them all like a mighty ocean's wave, and she felt her legs go weak just from being in his presence. The cold mask on his face, a grim frown and piercing stare, could have sent orcs fleeing for their lives, she was sure of it. And as he stalked into the room, Grace knew that Louk Shannegh had another name.

Death.

Morgan swallowed nervously, and his grip on Grace tightened. "So it's-"

Louk Shannegh did not even move. At least, Grace did not think he had. His eyes fixed directly on Morgan, and the man's life seemed to simply leave his body. He slumped to the ground, the strength gone from his form. His sword clattered at her feet. Released suddenly from his touch, Grace stumbled forwards and rushed to the bed. Ignoring him, and Louk Shannegh, she leapt onto the mattress and covered Anna, sweeping her body over the battered high elf.

If Morgan was still alive, Louk Shanegh would finish him off. She trusted that with all her heart. But she also couldn't bear to look him in the eye. Instead she wrapped her arms around Anna's motionless, frame, cradling her friend like a newborn. She truly had run out of tears to cry, but that did not stop her from tearing a sleeve free and wiping the filth from Anna's face.

"I'm so sorry" Grace breathed, hardly daring to raise her voice. She heard the heavy footfall of boots behind her, and knew that the newcomer was moving about. She did not care. The only thing that mattered was Anna. "Anna, I am so sorry."

A slim, pale hand twitched, and her friend clasped her hand with a weak, sickly strength. If Anna could have found voice, she might have said something, but Grace could see the woman had lost all of her strength. She was broken. Her husband had been slain before her eyes, and now the savage had raped her in front of her friend. It was a wonder if her sanity remained, or even if she could recover from this.

"We should go" a calm voice announced behind her. Grace spared a cautious glance back, and found Louk Shannegh standing at the foot of the bed. The darkness had fled from his expression, and the calm humane face she had seen before had returned. Keeping his gaze carefully directed away, he set what remained of Anna's clothes on the bed. Then, to her surprise, he shrugged off his jacket and laid it beside her savaged dress. "I'll see about finding something for her."

Without another word, he disappeared into the hallway. Grace gaped after him for a moment, unable to believe his appearance. It had taken a moment for it to sink in. He had come for them? How had he known… what was going on?

Gingerly, Grace stripped a pillow and used the pillowcase to clean Anna's body. The high elf flinched when she touched bruised areas, but clung to Grace with childlike need. By the time she finished, and dressed the silent woman as best she could, their savior had returned without success. To her utter lack of surprise, there were no women's clothes here. A few large cloaks could cover her, but only so well. Grace accepted the responsibility of taking care for her friend, however, and handed the man back his jacket after wrapping Anna snuggly in a thick and clean cape.

He then led them down the stairs, kicking the dead out of the way to give them a clear path. Grace's unease came rushing back at the sight of the main room of the barracks. There were over twenty men splayed through the room, all dead. It looked as if a monster has ransacked the place. But Louk Shannegh showed no injuries, and his clothes hardly looked damaged.

"How did you find us" she managed to ask.

"I am very persuasive" was his answer.

When she shuffled out into the street, Anna kept carefully at her side, Grace took a deep breath of the dirty air. The nausea overwhelmed her, and she turned to violently puke in the gutter. Gods, it had been decades since she had last seen such slaughter. The sight brought back memories that left her trembling with nightmares.

A cart waited nearby, and a street urchin handed the reins back to Louk at his approach. Gesturing to the cart, he motioned for them to climb aboard.

"Where… where are we going?"

"Home" he said.

Grace wasn't sure where that was anymore.


	19. The Long Way Home

**A/N: Been a long month, took me a while to even start writing this one. Glad to finally get it out for y'all.**

 **Reviewers-**

 **Scriptura -Yeah, I have a hard time finding a balance of narration vs action. In my wilder, youthful days I only wrote action, so I'm currently on the other side of the pendulum there. Glad you like it!  
StaffSergeant - People be wack  
Dragonheart51 - heehee, this was an easy one for him  
FrancisVamp0822 - Maia's still pretty good at her job, all things considered. She just isn't good at THE job that they are currently facing.  
ManwithaPlan113 - As our lord and savior Qui-Gon Jinn said, "there's always a bigger fish"  
Guest - It is certainly a challenge, but really just thinking of the characters as people can do a lot to improving a setting  
Disciple of Ember - Maia has some dark times ahead. Who knows, maybe she can do what the 40kverse cannot and stave off her corruption. :D as for Louk's new intensity, there'll be plenty more as the story goes on, showing how he has evolved, and what has evolved. A touch of the old him is definitely there, but one can't deny a bit of Berserker Rampage every now and again.  
DanteInfernus - War is a very, very gray moral area. One of the things that has always struck me as absurd is how, in most Kuroinu fics, Olga just waltzes into the free world and everything's fine. I love how StaffSergeant started off in the right direction that not everyone is okay with her being there. Wanted to expand on that a bit with this one. As for Celeste and Olga, though, I wouldn't quite say it is healed. just mended.  
IcErza - ...thank? Glad you enjoy it, and that it is provoking readers how I hoped it would. Kuroinu ain't for the faint of heart.  
SomeGuyOverHere - Saw Goblin Slayer, read the manga first. Personally, I think it's trash. The writing is stale, the main character is a Mary Sue, and everything relies on stupid Plot Devices. Also, the writer's fetish with showing women being raped is cringy. Super cringy. god-awfully-teenager-that-just-hit-puberty cringy (end rant) Louk has definitely tacked on some strength that doesn't quite belong to a human being. That scene was... glad to be done with, let's say. I know a lot of people wanted to see Morgan pulped slowly, but doing that with Grace and Anna in the room wouldn't be productive. And inquisitors are always productive. heehee. A bit of explanation for that will be below, btw.  
Guest 2 - True. The Golden Throne cares not from whence the Blood Flows  
Abdiel Amaro - Trying to make it realistic definitely is not fun to write. That's part of the awkward part of writing in an h-setting. To stay 'true' to the setting, in a sense, without going overboard on it.  
Guest 3 - You guys haven't quite seen Louk in real action, yet. There was a glimpse of it on the battlefield, but once Louk's time to shine really comes through, it's gonna be good.  
Guest 4 - Yeah, that's a whole other blend of creepy in the original source.**

 **Have Fun!**

 **GRAPHIC CHAPTER AHEAD**

* * *

 **The Long Way Pub**

Maia set the bottle down and let out a bored sigh. It had been hours now since Louk Shannegh had left the pub. His simple explanation that he was going after the elves gave her little to work with. Certainly, she had some faith that he could find them. The man had an unnatural talent for finding things, and the fervor with which he applied himself assured Maia that he would not give up until he found them.

In the meantime, Maia had not let herself slack. The back of the pub was a mess, and the front not much better. Rolling up her sleeves, the Mercenary Queen of Eostia set to work resetting the place. Maia did not particularly think the Long Way Pub would be reopening any time soon, but it did not hurt to tidy up the place. That, and the gods only knew what time Louk would be coming back. She figured her would find where they were then come fetch her. Even with his skills, two attackers were better than one.

It took the better part of the day to reset the place. Ian's body she took care of first; Maia wrapped it in a bed sheet, then paid an urchin to fetch a priest to take it for burial. The blood she cleaned with a rag, and the kitchen required little other than sweeping all the irrecoverable food out into the back alley. There was lots of broken glass behind the counter though, but Maia put it all in a bag and let if in reach. Even glass shards could be sold for something, given the right merchant.

Once she restored the pub to a presentable fashion, Maia found it was still early in the evening. A few curious onlookers wandered in now and again. She shooed them all away without hesitation. In Bold Fortune, there was rarely a difference between the nosy and the thieves. They all fled with a simple look and a reach for her blades.

After that, taking a look around, Maia gauged the odds of them staying put. Trouble with the VarGolems never ended well, no matter innocence or guilt. Once one got involved, even involuntarily, that was it. The best option would be for them to leave. Without a man on hand to provide discouragement to the amorous, they were vulnerable. That, and Anna's husband had been killed here. Would she truly want to stay in such a place? The question was, where could they go. Ken could have a space for them. Maia knew she could look for it herself, and probably find a good location for them to set up again. Ken was safer, and people always needed a good pub.

It hadn't taken long to pack up their belongings. Each had a trunk's worth of clothes and baubles, and Maia loaded Ian's things too. The three cases now sat beside each other in front of the bar. The food that could travel she had wrapped, bagged, or simply stacked on the counter. The only things she had not packed were the kitchen items. More than likely those belonged to someone here in the city, and the pub paid for their use. The elves would know for certain.

All that she accomplished during the evening, and still Louk had not yet returned. By that point, her stomach growled from need of nourishment, and Maia availed herself to the food that wouldn't keep. Cold chicken and a pot of beans filled her belly, and a single bottle of whiskey wet her palette and kept her warm while she lounged about, waiting for word from her companion. Now that the sun was long set, the odds of looters had increased. Word would have spread through most of the city by now that the pub had been torched, and the elven hostesses made off with. There were plenty of sorts that would look at this as a place to investigate for swag. So she sat in the doorway between the kitchen and front, her swords casually stuck in the cracks of the flooring, eyeing both entrances to the building while she picked over the remains of a chicken leg.

It was a damned boring night.

Eventually, the sound of a cart and horses reached her ears. Not an unusual sound in a city, but her ears prickled at the intrusion, and her well-honed warrior instinct told her they were coming inside. Setting the chicken on the counter, she pulled her swords free and strode towards the door, letting the blades hang casually beside her. Depending on their intentions, she had a special greeting waiting for them.

"Open up" a gruff voice ordered from the other side. Maia grinned softly at the familiar sound. Yes, he was back. Of course he was. Judging by the cart, he had company. Had he truly found and recovered them already? Morgan would have a company with him. Sliding the bar to the side, Maia dragged the door back and prepared herself for whatever lay on the other side.

The weary, hollow-eyed elves stumbled past her, hardly acknowledging her as Louk ushered them inside. Bewilderment froze the Shield in place for a moment, eyeing their battered appearances. Grace's jaw and throat showed bruising, and Anna was naked save for a voluminous cloak. The high elf looked absolutely… her throat constricted for a moment, and anger surged in her at the realization.

"Food and drink" their savior ordered, brushing past Maia with a curt nod. "Please. What's available?"

"On it" Maia assured him. Rushing back to the kitchen, she grabbed a pair of bottles from the crate she had packed up and hurried back to the front. The elves had collapsed into a booth, their bodies sagging. Grace appeared better off, and had wrapped an arm around her friend, eyeing the room blearily. The last one in the room, Louk Shannegh, stood a short distance away, surveying the counter area with his brooding, grim expression. The alcohol delivered, she motioned for Louk to follow her back into the kitchen to get food.

"What happened to them" Maia asked, even though she knew it well enough. She wanted to hear it though. It meant more when she could hear it.

"Morgan's dead," was the simple, unhelpful answer.

Directing him to grab the remains of the stew on the stovetop, Maia snatched a few loaves of bread. "I mean, to them. Did Morgan do that?"

"Does it matter?" He fixed her with a stern, reprimanding glare. "Leave it. Nobody gains from dwelling on it."

"Did he suffer, at least?"

"He is" came the assurance.

"Is? I thought you said h-"

"He is dead" Louk agreed. "And he is suffering for his life. You believe in the afterlife, right? Don't you people have some variance of that?"

"We, uh, we do."

"Then rest easy knowing that _my_ afterlife is far worse than yours." He pushed the door open with his shoulder and beckoned for her to go first.

Returning to the elves, Maia gave them each a loaf and moved aside for the stew. Grace ate ferociously, wolfing her meal down, reddened eyes blinking furiously as she guzzled half the bottle in one go. Her partner, the high elf, barely even looked at the meal. That hollow, dead-eyed stare set Maia's teeth on edge. She had seen that before, so many times in the wake of demon raids. A broken look, irreparable.

Leaving the elves to their meal, Maia strode across the room and stoked the fireplace. Her hands trembled, she noted.

"So what do we do now?"

She had sensed his approach, though not heard it. The man could move like a wraith when he wanted to.

"It is going to be messy here for a bit" Louk informed her. "The VarGolem mansion was attacked tonight, and some man named Siegfried killed."

"Siegfried?" Maia's breath caught for a heartbeat, and she turned her head to inspect the stony expression on Louk's face. "You killed him?"

"I needed answers quickly. As it was, I barely arrived before Grace suffered the same fate as Anna."

"Bastards" Maia cursed. "And you killed them all?"

"All that were there."

"Good."

They remained silent for a few minutes. Maia listened to the faint scrape of spoons in the stew bowls. "I should go get Anna some clothes. They don't want to go in the back."

There had been a couple changes of clothes Maia had left out for each woman. The assumption had been they would want to clean up when they came back. Selecting an appropriate set, she walked it back to the front, certain that they could establish some privacy without her needing to go back to the room where her husband had been killed.

What she came back to was not what she had expected in the least.

It started as a scuffle in her ears, a muffled sound of Grace calling out the high elf's name in concern, then the sound of things feet running, then confused noises. Maia rushed back into the room, worried that VarGolem men had arrived. Louk Shannegh was still in there, of course, but it was harder to fight when protecting others. She burst into the room with Anna's clothes tucked in one arm, her sword drawn in the other hand, primed and ready for bloodshed.

The elves stood behind the counter. Grace had Anna wrapped up from behind, hugging the struggling high elf close as the fair-skinned woman sobbed and shrieked unintelligible sounds.

"What happened?"

"She came over here" Grace answered, "I think she is looking for something, but when she couldn't find it she went berserk."

"Anna" Maia consoled, joining them. She reached out to place a hand on the elf's shoulder, but Anna writhed and bucked in Grace's grasp. Tearing herself free, the high elf threw herself to the ground and started scrabbling about the floorboards. "Anna!"

"Anna" a sturdy, male voice demanded. Louk's tone cut like a blade, and even Anna froze stiff at the sound. Her body tensed, coiling like a spring, and slowly the high elf turned her manic gaze up at the man standing on the other side of the counter. He had kept his distance so far; in honesty it was the smart move considering what she had been through. Holding out his palm, he opened his fingers and revealed a simple, ornate gemstone clasp. The same one Maia had seen on the elf when they had first come into the pub. "It's here."

Anna sprang up and snatched it from his hand. Holding the gemstone close, she uttered a low, broken moan. Maia's gut twisted in sympathy at the unpleasant noise. Stepping back, Maia offered the change of clothes to Grace, who gently took the high elf and shooed Louk away. Using the counter for modesty, Grace dressed her friend, who stood motionless through it all. Maia wanted to avert her gaze; it was only polite, but she could not help staring at the bruises covering the delicate high elf's body. The one who had… so violently abused her deserved a fate far worse than a simple sword through the heart.

"What do we do now" Grace asked aloud, when it was done. Escorting Anna back to the booth, Grace sat her down and wrapped the cloak over her for warmth. The dark elf had recovered greatly with the meal, and ale. Odds were the woman was running on shock and alcohol right now. That was fine. When she crashed, she would sleep like the dead. Better that way, sometimes.

"I.. I don't know" Maia answered. She glanced over at Louk, seeking an answer.

"The VarGolems have been persuaded to buy the property from you" Louk answered. He produced a pouch from his coat and set it on the table. It was weighty, judging by the thump it made on the wood, and clinked like many coins. The dark elf's face twisted in anger at the announcement, but that anger gave way to astonishment when gold coins spilled out of the pouch. Stunned, she dumped out the pouch. Maia joined her in a shared curse of surprise at the veritable flood of gold that spilled onto the table. "There a whole chest of the same in the cart."

"...how?" Disbelief battled against proof as Grace held up a coin to inspect.

"I am _very_ persuasive" Louk answered. "This place isn't safe anymore. Even with Morgan gone, you should leave."

"Where could we go?"

It was a purely rhetorical question. Even with just the pouch Louk had offered, the two elves could move anywhere in the kingdoms, and live like nobles for a good while. It was less a question of location, but feasibility.

"We are heading back to Ken. You can come along, if you'd like."

"What would we do in Ken?"

"Up to you." The man shrugged noncommittally. "People always like taverns, and Ken's a fair shake safer than here. That, and Maia can put a word in with Celeste to have you set up in the safest place with the best security."

"You know the- of course you do." Grace slid one of the coins over to Anna, but the high elf had lost the world in her focus on the little gemstone clasp. It was as if they had all stopped existing to the woman. "We would need to pack."

"I got most of it done for you" Maia assured her. "But if you want to come to the back, we can do a last sweep. Wasn't sure about some things."

Grace Campbell nodded, and Maia led her in a sweep of the place. It only took a little while to load up the cart. The two elves' entire world fit on that small cart, with space enough they laid blankets in the middle for Anna to sleep on the journey. Experienced with horses, Grace mounted Maia's horse while Maia took the cart. She was the most rested, and it took just a little more effort to drive a cart than ride a well-trained horse.

The tiny caravan slipped out of Bold Fortune in the middle of the night. Maia had never been more grateful to leave her city behind.

 **-v-**

 **Later that night, on the road to Ken**

It had been far too long since she had ridden a horse. She could feel it already: the slight cramping in her thighs, the ache in her buttocks from the constant motion. It was a negligible discomfort compared to what she had nearly endured at Morgan's touch. The thought of it still twisted her stomach. For a while she had ridden alongside the cart, eager to keep an eye on the sleeping Anna lest she be haunted by nightmares. To her relief, the elf slept soundly. It was a small mercy, in her mind. Perhaps Anna had no dreams to remind her of the horror of the day.

Now though, she rode alongside the man that had rescued them. The darkness cloaked him in shadow, hiding his mysterious features even further than his hood allowed. Still, she fancied he had a stoic grimace on his face. That sort of expression suited him well. It made him a bit unwelcoming in appearance, but Grace knew better than most how deceiving appearances could be. She clutched her shawl closer over her shoulders, suppressing a shudder. So much had happened since sunrise. She hardly knew what to think about it all. Eventually her wits would return to her, and the full horror of it would settle on her. When that happened, she feared what might become of her.

To take her mind off the terrifying thought, Grace examined her riding companion. He had not said much since leaving Bold Fortune, other than to order the Shield and ask for directions as they travelled to Ken. Beside that, he kept his silence and merely observed the road ahead. During that long silence, the hours that they travelled, Grace had several burning questions that simmered in her chest. Louk had them ride until the city had disappeared, and until it seemed any reasonable pursuit would have stopped for the night. By that point, she was thoroughly exhausted, and she knew they all were. Anna had slept peacefully through the ride, at least.

By the time the man called a halt, Grace could hardly keep her eyes open. A soft yawn forced its way from her lungs as Louk led them off the road and to a clear break in the treeline. It appeared a familiar, well-used campsite. The kind that saw near daily use from travellers. As such, some thoughtful persons had left behind a stack of chopped firewood, and reinforced the clearly detailed fire pit with rocks to indicate the prime spot. A few logs rested at appropriate intervals for seating too. The whole thing seemed nice and quaint.

Grace waited in her saddle as the others dismounted. Maia took a glance at Anna and insisted she remain put; the back of the cart probably formed a better bed than the dirt with all the blankets they had laid for the high elf. Watching the two warriors go about making camp filled her with a sense of security. They both knew what they were doing, and had a competent way about them. She had never been good with outdoors living. Farm life had been easy enough, in her short time at Anna's old village, but Grace had never figured out the trick to sleeping under the stars.

It was only after Louk Shannegh approached her horse and took it by the reins that she realized she had lost herself to her thoughts.

"Need a hand?"

"I… oh." She nodded meekly, and held out her hand. To her surprise, he reached up and slipped an arm around her back. A surprised squeal ripped free as he pulled her straight off the saddle, sliding her into his arms, hefting her in a bridal carry. Grace desperately clung to him, her sense of balance entirely askew, afraid that she might tip over and slam into the ground.

Carrying her over to the fire, Louk set her down on a log and went back to strip her horse without a word. Grace stared after him, heat burning her her cheeks, and then that heat touched her whole body as Maia lit the firepit and poured a small vial of oil on it to kick the blaze off. Content to bask in its warmth, she warmed her hands and watched as the two others pushed the cart close enough to the fire that Anna could benefit from the heat as well. Maia pulled a bottle of whiskey from the cart, uncorked it, and took a long swig before handing it to Grace. The dark elf guzzled about half the bottle before Louk sat down beside her, dropping onto the log with quiet grace. Offering him the bottle, she smiled as he accepted it. Eyeing his profile as he drained the rest of it, she enjoyed the strength in his face. Taking the empty bottle back, Grace returned it to the cart and retook her seat.

When she returned to the log, Maia announced her intention to hold watch until morning, leaving just Grace and Louk to get sleep. She wasn't quite ready for sleep yet, even though she felt the exhaustion tugging at her consciousness.

"What happened" she asked at last.

Though he did not show any response to her question, Grace could sense the sharpening of his mood, his thoughts. Gazing unblinkingly at the fire, he let out a long, quiet sigh. "That's a broad question."

"To Morgan" she clarified. "You walked into the room, then he just… what happened to him?"

"There are some things mortal beings are not meant to see." His mouth twisted in a frown, a gruesome sight had she been on the receiving end of it. "Morgan saw just a hint of that. His soul could not handle the truth I gave him."

"So you aren't human? You are a… this other thing?"

"I'm human… I was." He shrugged. "Still am, I guess. Doesn't feel much like it most times."

Pondering his strange answer, Grace remained silent for a while. She thought about that dark look he had worn in Morgan's den. She had seen animals with less vicious appearances. There truly was a different side of him. It had not been something as simple as her imagination.

"Were you hurt?"

Grace started when she realized he had spoken. His voice came out softly, for his gruffness, and edged with palpable concern. A shiver of fear swept through her and she frantically felt about, worry overpowering her senses that she had missed some injury he had just noticed. But then she caught his eyes, those deep and pained orbs, and realized the question had been simple in intent.

"He struck me" Grace admitted, touching her jaw. The bruise had not been large, but it still ached to the touch. She held some surprise that no teeth had been lost from the man's brute strength. "And the ropes were tight. Maybe a bit of an ache on the back of my skull too, but I was not… I was mostly unharmed."

His mouth parted as if to say something. Grace leaned forward, eager to hear what he had to say. Then he merely grunted, turned back to the fire, and stoked the logs. Her heart raced at the unspoken admission there. It might have been the alcohol in her blood. It was entirely possible she was imagining it.

Grace eased over until her hip touched his. Her savior did not shy away from her, but nor did he make any move for her. In fact, he shot her a sidelong glance, eyeing her curiously. Her breath stumbled in her lungs, uncertain of what to do next. In the end, she settled with picking up a stick and poking at the fire too.

"Not too much" he warned her.

"I know how to keep a fire going."

Something cracked in her composure when she spoke, like a dam pushed to its breaking point. A sudden rush of breaths swamped her, a headiness spilling through her so rapidly Grace dropped the stick and closed her eyes. Her hand curled into fists on her lap, and she leaned forward, uncaring for the sweltering heat of the flames. The terrible, cramping sensation of fear knifed into her heart. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, or maybe it was out loud. She didn't know. But her tears came bursting forth, and the whole world seemed to spin wildly as her mind released the terror and weariness from its grasp.

Then a strong arm wrapped around her. Then a warm cloak draped over her and pulled her close. The scent of oiled leather filled her nostrils as her cheek came into contact with his armor, and Louk Shannegh held her tightly as she sobbed into his chest. His lips pressed against the top of her head, moving in tandem to words that sounded like they were uttered a great distance away. Unable to summon any strength, she melted into his arms and cried, and cried, and cried. Until once again she could not find more tears to shed.

The strength of his grip held her safe. His touch was her security, her assurance that the world had not gone to hell, and that something remained for her here. Grace clung to that safety. Her finger latched onto the edges of his armor and held on until her breathing returned, her strength dripped back into her limbs, and the world ceased spinning. It might have been a few minutes, or longer. The fire still blazed when she finally opened her eyes.

His face said it all. The rage, the boiling anger that consumed the hearts of men and drove them to fits of mad vengeance. Haunted memories of things done in need of that vengeance, of horrors committed by his own hands in payment for the wrongs of those who sinned against him. Grace wondered, only for a fleeting moment, what he had suffered through. What great pain had struck him in his life to give him such a tortured and hateful visage. She had thought she understood the man before. Now Grace knew exactly what kind of man Louk Shannegh was. He was a man who had once been broken, his soul shattered by cruelties no mortal should ever endure. And that very soul had been pulled back together, drawn into its original shape by a loving hand. Only for it to be broken a second time.

Grace pitied him more than she had ever pitied another person. More than Anna in the cart, with her Ian slain and her body desecrated. More than the mothers who had lost their sons in war against the daemons. More than any of the children whose parents lay murdered at their feet by bandits or monsters.

Guided by instinct, Grace pulled herself upright and climbed onto his lap. Straddling the startled man's thighs, she took his face in her hands and fixed him with a heated gaze. The warmth in her belly did not come from the fire. The sickly twisting in her guts came from something far more physical, more intimate.

"I am so sorry" she breathed.

"For what?"

"I don't know what happened to you. And I don't expect to ever know. Please, don't judge me for this." She darted in and pressed her lips to his. They were rough, his skin prickly with stubble. But it only took a moment before his mouth moved in time with hers, catching her probing tongue in his teeth. He tasted like the whiskey. Her heart leapt into her throat as his hands settled on her waist, holding her firmly in place. It was not pushing her away, but it was not pulling her closer either. No, Louk merely held onto her. But his own tongue teased hers, and Grace allowed herself to sink into his embrace.

It did not last long enough. Eventually she had to pull back, gasping for breath, her face flushed hot with desire. Louk gazed at her with a neutral expression, but his eyes no doubt mirrored the heat in her own. Grace could hardly hold still in his arms, fighting the urge to wriggle free and press herself into his grasp.

"I'm… I'm not sorry for that" she panted. Lunging forwards again, she kissed him again. "Or that."

"Grace-"

"I don't want it to happen again" she said, her voice rising in a sudden burst of sound. Biting her tongue, she glanced about. Maia was nowhere to be seen. No doubt the Shield had taken her watch post a decent distance away. Letting out an uneven gasp, Grace reached up and caressed his face. "It, I'm not asking for something permanent. I don't think this is love, but I can't let this pass me by. I've been too.. you won't always be there to protect me. It's not your job. But I don't want to be trapped by horrors and nightmares."

"I've known you for less than a day" Louk countered.

Damn it, but he was being reasonable. Grace wanted him, no, needed him to pin her to the ground and ravish her. She wanted him to wipe away Morgan's touch, to fill her with his scent and his touch so thoroughly that she could never forget it.

"I'm not a lovestruck virgin" Grace argued. She gripped one of his hands and guided it back to her buttocks. Pressing his fingers firmly against her taut rear, she managed a coy smile. "You're not my first. And I know I'm not yours either. Let's just… this one time. Please."

"I don't want to hurt you" he said, though his quiet tone told her she had won. Grace pulled in close, until their lips grazed each other with feathery kisses. Sliding her hands over his armor, she fumbled for the buckles that held it together. Her blind groping served for naught, but did reveal some impressive musculature under his armor as her probing fingers encountered sturdy resistance under his leather.

Easing her back with a hand on her shoulder, Louk held her at arm's length. That lustful gleam had fully settled in his eyes, and Grace shivered with anticipation. He was a big, strong man. Anna had never spoken about her lovemaking with Ian, but Grace had heard it through the walls plenty of times. Human men were more… visceral than elven men. At least, that was the impression she had gotten. Her time among the humans had taught her that they took inordinate pleasure in the flesh. The thought of his hands roaming across her body sent a chill down her spine.

"Take your dress off" he ordered.

Rising to her feet, Grace reached for the clasp behind her neck. She paused on touching it, the realization of what she was about to do stopping her cold. Remaining seated, the human had started undoing his armor, and pulled it and his shirt over his head with hardly any effort. The sight beneath stole her breath away.

Elven men were graceful creatures. Even the most muscular male resembled, physically at least, a decently fit man. That being said, elven muscles and bodies were far superior to human ones. A little show of muscle on an elf was comparable to the bulging biceps of a renowned human warrior. Somehow, though, Grace knew what she was seeing was on an entirely different level.

It wasn't that Louk Shannegh was a muscle-bound freak of nature. His body was lean, hardy, a scrapper's build. What took her breath was the perfected sculpture of his form. Like a marble statue come to life. Every bump and curve drawn by an artist's hand, every hair perfectly placed. Her tongue ran across her lips unconsciously, a myriad of scandalous images pouring into her mind as he set his clothes down on the wide blanket he had set aside of his bedding. His pants remained on for the moment, to her utter disappointment. That was something… well, that human males absolutely had an advantage over elven men in. Though, she wasn't quite sure she liked the size difference. There was a point it struck her as absurd.

Her distraction served to slow her down, and she fiddled with the clasp for a minute before undoing it. Freed of its hold, her top slid down her body like water, pooling at her feet in a whisper of falling fabric. A surge of timidity struck her then, and the thought of baring her nude body willingly filled her with shyness. Covering her breasts as best she could with one hand, she worked the clasp of her skirt and let that too fall to the earth.

At that moment, her fascination with Louk was reciprocated. The man went utterly still, his eyes fixed on her mostly naked body, frozen in lustful admiration as she stood before him, protecting her modesty with her arms. The intensity of his attention frightened her, even as it filled her with a giddiness she knew didn't belong in a proper woman. The thought of his hands soon to be upon her made her blush, and a dampness spread from between her hips. Gods, she was dripping. Her fingers tucked under the strings of her underwear, and she started to pull them down.

"Stop" he ordered, his voice dreamlike.

Confused, she did as he commanded. Standing hesitant, awaiting his move, Grace glanced down at her naked body and wondered what he thought of it. It had been a long time since she had taken her clothes off for a man. Since she had willingly parted her legs for a lover. The earlier courage was fading fast. Fear began to creep into the corners of her mind. What if he was rough? What if he hurt her?

Before she could even consider backing out, the man rolled forward onto his knees and pressed his forehead against her belly. His strong hands gripped her by the thighs, each one massaging gently but firmly as he explored her exposed flesh. Breathing in her scent, Louk licked a drop of sweat from her stomach and nuzzled against her. Grace quirked an eyebrow, uncertain of his intentions.

Then his lips began to plant kisses on her stomach, and his hands went from a gentle massage to a sensuous rubbing along her thighs and buttocks that brought an involuntary groan to her lips. Grace grabbed at his hair, finding a fistful, and held his head firmly against her as his mouth descended lower, kissing its way to one hip then following the natural slope down to her most sacred place.

"I… uh… may be a bit dirty" she whispered. The sudden thought that Maia could come walking back in at any point flared in her mind. Glancing nervously about, she realized they were standing against the firepit, visible to anyone who was watching. Not that she expected anyone to-oohh…

His tongue lapped against her damp underwear, and any thoughts of modesty fled. A breathless gasp spilled out of her lungs. Gods, his tongue was thick. It played mercilessly against her, pressing into her waiting slit, patrolling the edges of her womanhood. Her legs trembled from the long-forgotten sensation. He was good at this. He was really gooohhd.

A finger snatched her cloth to the side, and the tongue speared inside her. Grace bit her tongue, desperately holding in another cry. Clamping a hand firmly over her mouth, she stared down in disbelief as Louk Shannegh applied himself to her uncovered body. He moved expertly, licking up her juices and sending his tongue in patterns that had her dizzy. When his teeth grazed against something far more sensitive she nearly yelped. Arching her back against his touch, Grace threw her head back struggled to control her breathing.

All the while, his hands continued to rub, massage, and grope her buttocks and thighs. It was… somewhat unusual for her. She had never had something like that happen during something like… this. It felt rather pleasant. Pleasant enough to add to the heavenly sensation of his tongue while not distracting.

It really had been too long. Before Grace realized it, her body felt like it would crumble under his ministrations. Louk seemed to sense it, because he went into a frenzy between her legs. She had only a few seconds of warning before he pushed her over the edge. With a muted cry, Grace quaked in his arms. Her entire body convulsed, snapping rigid as the breath left her, as her muscles went slack.

She was only vaguely aware of herself as Louk scooped one arm behind her thighs. Lifting her into the air, he gently swung her down, holding her with the other so she did not spill to the dirt. Laying her softly on the blanket he had set out, he kissed her fiercely. Grace returned his affection with gusto, tasting her own fluids fresh on his chin. Her fingers slid into his hair again and held him close, reveling in his touch. She could hear, and feel, him moving about. And she was pretty sure she knew what he was doing.

Still, it came as a bit of a shock when the heat of his legs touched hers. And when she felt something new bump into her belly. Drawing free of his mouth, Grace glanced down, curiosity overcoming her lust for the moment.

"I see s- oh gods!"

It wasn't that Grace had never seen a human cock before. There had been times, in Anna's old village, where she saw human men out bathing in the lake. Once or twice she had accidentally walked in on Anna and Ian entwined in each other's arms, too. Seeing it at a distance though, compared to right up on her… "That's going to split me in half!"

"We can stop" Louk promised her. She gazed up anxiously at him. To her surprise, he had heartfelt sincerity in his eyes. That lust-fueled hunger lurked like a coiled predator, but Grace felt the security of knowing that he truly meant it. If she asked him to stop, he would. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Just, please, be gentle." She hated herself for asking it. By all rights, she should stop. It was going to hurt. There was no way it wouldn't. She was a small being; he was a large one. Grace knew that she was the perfect size for an elf, at least in that regard. From her past experiences, she knew that his cock was far larger than what her body was designed to take in. The ghostly nightmares crept into her mind. Terror filled her heart with icy pain.

Then his lips descended on her again, banishing the cold. He did not roll her over, push her legs to the side. No, he remained lying beside her. A grasping hand settled on her belly, pressing for a moment against her stomach. His fingers made small little motions, drawing circular patterns across her stomach. It tickled, and she felt the nightmares fading away just as quickly as they had raised their heads.

"You are beautiful" he breathed, trailing his kiss down to her jaw. Grace pulled her head back, exposing her throat, unconsciously obeying as he nipped at the tender flesh of her neck. Elves were sensitive creatures. Far more so than humans. Each one of his touches gave her pleasure that made her teeth ache. Did he know that her throat was especially sensitive? Her previous husband had made it a game, sometimes, to see how close he could bring her to the edge with nothing more than her throat and her breasts. It took her entire will to not squirm as that teasing hand moved upwards to join his attentions.

Gods, she could lay like this forever. Grace hadn't meant for it to go like this. She had expected Louk to be, at his core, a human. Humans were simple, passionate, direct. If she had offered to open her legs to him, he would have pinned her to the ground and filled her without hesitation. But this, this was unexpected, and glorious. Having a man plundering her body, enjoying its secrets, and even taking care to not hurt her. Maybe she was going to fall in lo-

No, she thought desperately. Not that. Not again. Never again.

His hand cupped her breast, holding it gingerly, applying the lightest pressure as his mouth continued to place kisses along her body in slow journey to her chest. Her breathing was ragged now, entirely out of her control. A thumb rubbed over her nipple; the simple touch sparked through her body like a jolt of lightning. She groaned, and frantically grabbed at his hand to pull it away. Too sensitive, she thought. Gods, it had been so long.

Louk pulled back, lifting himself on an elbow, and regarded her with an impudent smirk. She was panting, Gods help her but she needed him. Her body felt his absence in an instant.

"Please" she begged.

"Please what?"

Her cheeks burned with shame, even as she reached up to grasp at his muscular arms.

"I… I need you in me" she whispered, unwilling to say it loudly.

"Almost time" he assured her. He pressed a soft kiss on her mouth, and her heart thumped in her chest like it might explode. Drawing downwards again, he took her nipple in his teeth. The sensation made Grace whimper, and she bucked against his touch. That same ferocious tongue that had brought her to climax already went to work on her breast, and Grace knew that if this did not end soon, she would lose herself to Louk Shannegh.

That was when his hand returned, but not to her breast. Three sturdy fingers caressed her throbbing slit. Remaining there for a moment, the one probed experimentally inside, curling his finger back and forth like a man inviting a woman to his side. Grace panicked at the overpowering sensation. Her legs pressed together, desperately trying to keep that reaching finger out, unable to hold herself together between the simultaneous attacks.

"Louk… I… ah…"

With the one hand, he held her legs apart. Another finger joined the first. They filled her, scooping and prodding, thrusting in and out of her with a building rhythm. Grace tried to cry out, but her lungs were already empty. Louk moved to the other breast, subjecting it to the same tortuous touches. Her legs kicked frantically, straining to find a release, and escape from his inexorable onslaught.

His tempo continued to build, rising faster and faster, until the world dissolved into the dark sky and the rapid wet noises of his hand against her slit. Every part of her body felt the fire of his touch. It filled her, setting her nerves alight, constricting her throat, pulling at her from a thousand directions as she felt her world caving in again. A powerful cry built in her lungs as his fingers broke her resolve and forced her into freefall. The ground seemed to fall away from under her, and a drunken weightlessness swept over her as he brought her to climax yet again.

Those damned lips covered her scream, sucking hungrily at her ecstasy as her hips pushed off the blanket. Her entire body lifted off the ground, save for her feet and shoulders. And those frantic fingers hammered in and out of her without mercy, pulsing like a woodpecker digging out its hole. Her body shook wildly, white filled her vision, and the entire world ceased to exist. There was just his mouth on hers, his fingers bringing her to climax after messy climax for what felt like an eternity.

It was the most sublime hell she had ever experienced.

When her senses returned to her, Louk had retreated from his assault. Instead her knelt over her, lazily exploring her body with soft kisses and gentle caresses. Her body felt drained, pushed past exhaustion, and Grace could think of nothing but the overwhelming desire to collapse into sleep. Gazing at the man through lidded eyes, Grace smiled softly, her body still trembling from the aftershock of her climaxes.

"Never would have thought you were a squirter" he uttered huskily.

It took her several breaths to muster the energy for a reply. "You are a devil, Louk Shannegh."

"Been called that more than a few times" was his arrogant reply.

"You are going to break me" she murmured. She did not know if she feared that or looked forward to it.

"I'll try not to" he answered, growing serious.

His hands pulled her legs apart, revealing her soaked and stained underwear for his viewing pleasure. Slowly, almost reverently, he pulled her underwear off. Grace hissed as the fabric slid down her legs. Her whole body was screaming with sensitivity. Even the simplest touch felt like a lover's passion. She craved that touch again. She could feel the twitching, crawling sensation in her stomach, the mindless desire already threatening to drown her sanity again.

 _I love this,_ she thought, swallowing the words in her throat. Her husband had been passionate; they had loved each other dearly. But he had never been as skilled, or as powerful, as Louk Shannegh. She would never again feel his hands on her body, hear her name on his tongue.

Tears formed in her eyes. Blinking furiously, Grace looked away, staring off into the trees. A man knelt between her thighs, poised to desecrate her, and by her own wish. Was she a terrible wife?

"What's wrong?"

He stopped. Again, he stopped. Grace struggled to look at him through the tears. The heat of his body, the passion in his tensed, needful hold of her, they all spoke to a man teetering on the edge of control. But he stopped. Damn him, why did he stop?

"It's… nothing" Grace lied.

"Grace." A frown spilled onto his expression, and the savage lust he had shown drained slowly away.

"It isn't you" she insisted, wiping her eyes. A bleak grimace stole onto her features. "It's just we've all lost so much. Bad memories chose a poor time to resurface."

The man accepted her answer. He pressed down on her so gently, leaning down to encompass her, worshipping her body with his own. Each touch soothed her sorrow like a physician's balm. His warmth spilled through her, filled her heart to overflowing.

And then she felt it nudge against her lower lips. Anxiety surged inside her, imagining what it would do to her. The fear of pain triggered awful thoughts, reminded her of the horrors she had endured. Her trembling had nothing to do with his loving embrace.

"Do it" she murmured, breathing into his neck as she buried herself in his scent. Sweat, earth, and the faintest hint of blood. Her eyes squeezed shut, unwilling to open for fear she might see something else in her rising fear.

"You are a treasure" he told her, voice tickling her ear. "So damn beautiful."

A shiver rushed through her, and Grace realized she had made a terrible mistake.

She was fairly certain she had just fallen in love.

 **-v-**

Maia resisted the urge to look back. Though they were being quiet, Louk moreso than Grace, the dark elf's passionate cries rang in her ears like church bells. Each moan, gasp, and squeal echoed in the air, as if amplified by Maia's own boredom. They had been at it for a while now. Gods, it sounded like it was going to go quite a bit longer too.

Anxiously pressing her legs together, Maia tried to tune out the elf's cries, muffled as they were. But she could not. At first, she had merely walked further away, distancing herself from the two in hopes that would put their passion out of hearing. When that didn't work, Maia concentrated on reviewing the day's events. Sat on a log and sharpened her swords. Practiced combat forms against imaginary enemies.

There would be no danger tonight. Her senses were sharp as ever. The woods were alive with just the right amount of ambient noise. Crickets and owls, playing their melodies in the night. In a place like this, the sign of danger was no noise. That meant the animals had gone quiet, or fled. But all around the woods persisted unbothered by intruders.

A particularly loud squeal stabbed at her ears, piercing her concentration like a knife. Breathing a silent curse, Maia rubbed her forehead and glanced back towards the camp. She had walked far enough away she could barely see the firelight through the trees. Her circuit of the camp had her on the far side of it, too. How in hell's name was she hearing that?

The soft crunch of leaves being trod on drew her attention. She recognized the softness of step, and the unhurried, plodding path it was leading to her side. Shifting over just slightly on the fallen tree she perched on, Maia patted the place beside her.

Anna Florence slid into the seat, eyes fixed firmly ahead. The haunted, dead eyed expression had not fled her. If Maia hadn't known better, she might have thought the woman to be sleepwalking.

"Bit of a cold night" Maia greeted.

The elf said nothing. Just stared into the darkness. Behind them, Grace's cries grew frantic, wild, culminating in another cry of passion that made Maia's lips moisten. Her thighs pressed together, embarrassed to feel the first hint of dampness seeping from her body. Pushing the thought from her mind, she opened up her arm and extended it behind Anna, offering a place under her thick cloak. The elf was already wrapped up, but a frail thing like her could always use more.

The high elf turned in her direction, staring at a spot just past Maia's hip. She scooted in closer, drawing under Maia's cloak.

The Mercenary Queen hugged her for a moment, letting her warmth infuse the woman. Anna smelled wonderful, even in her unwashed state. They would have to fix that. It was a shame to let such a pretty thing go unwashed. Pretty little elves deserved to be cherished, made to shine like diamonds.

Maia idly wondered what Anna tasted like. What sort of unique flavor her skin had. The thought sent a pleasant wriggling inside her, and she absently touched her belly. The cold sensation had faded away. That surprised her. She had already grown used to it. But now it was gone. In its place, a simmering heat spread through her body.

It was a shame the elf's body was hidden by so many layers. Sometime in the future, Maia would have to reexamine Anna Florence. The elf's sinful body had many delights hidden under those constricting robes.

Her ears pricked as the cries rose once again from the camp. This time, she even heard the furious grunting of Louk Shannegh. Her teeth bared in a snarl for a moment, just the bat of an eye, as she thought about him. A sudden hatred spilled out of her, and her grasp on Anna tightened.

 _Damned bloodwarrior_ , she cursed. _You know nothing of true pleasure._

That was fine. Maia had her own elf. Her gaze settled on Anna's golden hair, and a cruel smile threatened to form. That's right. She had her own elf. And they were going to become best friends.


	20. Broken Mirrors

**A/N: Happy December! 2018 is almost gone, and with the nonstop craziness of holidays and work I barely squeezed anything out. Here's the next chapter. It's getting real hairy in Eostia.**

 **Reviewers-**  
 **Dragonheart51 - more or less. Mostly more.  
RedRat8 - All the chocolate. Anna's fate is pretty cursed, it seems.  
DJAtomica69 - Glad you're willing to put up with the wait!  
DanteInfernus - You could argue that Maia is having a bit of a personality reconstruction via our favorite tentacle god-thing. Certainly had a lot happening here.  
IcEzra - Yuuuuup. Gotta give y'all a nice moment before everything goes true 40k.  
** **human dragon - glad you liked it!**  
 **Vatican Templar - There's always an uncomfortable balance of how much is too much, but also how little is too awkward. Still not entirely comfortable forming these kinds of things, but hey, I knew what I signed up for when I started a story in this setting.**  
 **ManwithaPlan113 - Awkward, yes. Don't worry, it will get worse.**  
 **Guest - Olga is still best girl. Grace just snuck in out of left field.**  
 **Guest 2 - Definitely heat of the moment. The mind does and thinks all sorts of nonsense when it is literally flooded in endorphins and the like.**  
 **EnricksD8 - Well, if an Exterminatus were available, Louk would have hit the button back on chapter 1. :D**  
 **Disciple of Ember - Maia. Poor, poor, Maia. Everyone hates her guts at first, now people feel sorry for her. The delicious salt! Slaanesh has plans for her. Well Slaanesh has plans for everybody. She's just the first. As for the last comment/musing:**  
 **www . reddit r/ comicbooks /comments /3fi0kp/  
** **Guest 3 - Everybody's getting something this chapter!  
StaffSergeant - WOO!  
chronotimeguard - GS a person never has any character development. He always has some form of plot device to win every fight. He never has to learn anything new. literally everybody has a hard-on for him. and he regularly outperforms much higher rated allies, while never beating the big bads through his own power. His allies always under perform basic tasks. the writer goes on and on about how EASY goblins are to kill. People only lose to them by being stupid. And GS always has a plot device (SUPERMAGICSPELL or PRIESTESS'CONVENIENTNEWPOWERTHATSHEONLYUSESWHENHETELLSHERTO or SWORDMAIDENANDPRIESTESSFUCKHIMTOHEALTH) to pull him out of 'tight spots.' Everybody is slavishly devoted to him, trusts him implicitly, and he's just a flat, boring character.  
** **V - Chaos inter-departmental softball games are literally hell.  
Jay Pepy - NOBODY EXPECTS THE IMPERIAL INQUISITION  
FrancisVamp0822 - can anyone truly be saved once Chaos takes hold of them?  
** **snoogenz - Oh, that corruption is going to more than just her head. giggle  
Storm Master 567 - She does have a certain appeal... TWO appeals  
Guest 4 - Sounds like this place needs a good old PURGING  
ThatDrocker59- This one is going to be a rocky roller coaster. Glad you like it!**

 **Have a great holiday season! Probably won't get the next chapter out until January.**

* * *

 **Feoh**

Nervous hands smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her dress. Deep, calming breaths pulsed through her chest. For the dozenth time, she checked her hair in the mirror, reassuring herself that all was in place. The dress she wore had been tailored with peerless precision, yet it felt stiff and suffocating now. Tiny threads itched at her sides, tightness around her muscular shoulders tugged at her mobility. The dress had only been tested while standing still, she mused wretchedly. It was her own fault for not insisting the tailor have her walk with it. After all, as experienced as the man had been, he had never made a dress like this for a warrior-woman.

The bell by her door rang softly, jostled by a gentle pull on the cord in the hallway. That was it. The signal that the guests had arrived. Taking one final, anxious gulp of air, Alicia turned from the mirror and approached the door.

Her dress was, and had been, a truly beautiful thing at the time of its making. A year had passed since she had received it; having never had reason to wear it she had failed to ensure it would serve its intended purpose. Dresses were made to highlight a woman's grace and beauty. This one made her feel like a meathead.

The shy face of a castle servant greeted her on entering the hallway.

"Minister Beasely sends for you, Lady Arcturus. He awaits your arrival in the strategy room."

"Thank you… Kirstelle." It took Alicia a fraction of a moment to remember the young woman's name. The youngest daughter of a minor noble, she served in the castle alongside other excess children from the noble families. Those too far down the line of succession to have worth to the family were often shunted to the church, or in service to the royal family of Feoh. As a servant, their hard work could increase the reputation of the house in the eyes of the royals, as well as gain insider information for the house's benefit. This one seemed nice enough; Alicia knew she reported to her older brother who maintained the family's mansion in the capitol. That sort of political subterfuge was more than Alicia cared to worry over. This sort of meeting would hardly raise eyebrows. "Please fetch the royal tailor. I would speak with him regarding a dress once this meeting is concluded."

She left out the fact that it was the dress she wore that needed a consultation. _That_ was the sort of thing that did not need to go beyond private conversation. Though she truly cared little for the whispers and gossip among the noble houses, it would not reflect well on Prim for her cousin to be found guilty of being too mannish for proper clothes. It was stupid, but that was the luxury of the noble houses.

Once the servant had scurried off to attend the request, Alicia let out a quiet sigh and started down the hallway. No servants or guards accompanied her on the short trek. That was an honor reserved for royal family members only. Oh, how Prim hated to be escorted about like a porcelain doll. Alicia preferred the peace and quiet of her own thoughts. Even as those thoughts now clawed at her mind, massaged the nerves threatening to spill through her composure.

Practicing a calming technique, she processed the list of attendees to this meeting.

One: identify. Those in attendance included Minister Beasely, the newly promoted mercenary commander Magnus, Knight Thalia, and Mikhail Pantielle.

The minister represented the interests of the royal family; while Prim remained in Ken he served as her mouthpiece. While it was true that Prim and Beasely did not see eye-to-eye, the man had a wisdom born of experience. He would not jump to hasty rumors or make irrational decisions. His judgment could be trusted, if only for the calmness it brought to the table.

Magnus stood for the mercenaries. It chafed at Alicia's pride to have a company of mercenaries in Feoh. Never in history had Feoh required the protection of dedicated mercenary companies. Even the Black Dogs had not stationed a garrison in Feoh. The valor of the Holy Iris Chivalric Order had protected their land time and time again. To host mercenaries was to claim a deficiency in their abilities. Certain that the maneuver had been intended as a slight, Alicia had accepted it with clenched teeth and impatience. Once Prim returned, that matter would have to be addressed.

Thalia's presence, while welcome, served a dual-fold purpose that irked Alicia. On the one hand, her fresh return from patrolling the border meant she had important information to disseminate. That information had already been received in a private reception, however. The true reason of her presence was one that struck Alicia as profoundly childish. A noble lady could not be in private room with more than two men. One alone was scandal-worthy, and this meeting was far too sensitive to allow a female servant to stay in attendance. So, regardless of Thalia's contribution, the overshadowing purpose of 'protecting Alicia's virtue' could not be ignored.

And finally, Mikhail Pantielle. Her heart fluttered just slightly at his name. A faint rush of heat warmed her cheeks, and she touched her face in horror at the prospect of an unsightly display. It was true, Mikhail was a handsome and desirable man. His family stood regent over the land of Ur, and as the first son he had a rich inheritance waiting. His skill with the sword ranked high among nobles, nearing her own ability. It was even said he had inherited only the best traits from his father: nobility, compassion, shrewdness, and a fearless nature. Yes, he was quite desirable.

Duty to Feoh came first, she scolded, chasing away the fanciful thoughts.

Two: establish motives.

Beasely served the royal family. His mind would be that of Prim's. Without the princess here, he would side with Alicia in most regards.

Magnus served the mercenaries, and by extension that bastard Louk Shannegh. He could not be trusted, nor could his intentions. For all she knew, he had been sent to spy on her.

Thalia was her direct subordinate. Her mind was sharp, her tactical knowledge extensive. She would second Alicia's desires.

Mikhail had come to confirm the plan for the winter, as far as border security and open roads were concerned. Ur had some mercenary presence to support its protection, but the lack of a true ruler had left the region with a less than optimal wartime contingent. He sought a way to secure the peace going forwards.

Three: plan of attack.

The best solutions were often the simplest. She would propose sending the mercenaries to Ur to assist in border security for the winter. That would strengthen Ur and satisfy the Pantielle's needs. At the same time it would rid her of a potential spy, and restore the honor of her Order as the sole defenders of Feoh. If, Goddess forbid, something were to happen, those mercenaries would be a quick march away, easily able to reinforce should the unthinkable occur.

It sounded good in her head. Now she had to put it to words.

Four figures stood around the strategy table. The stooping form of Beasely waiting respectfully beside the vacant chair of the royal family. Magnus leaned casually against the table opposite Beasely, his arms crossed comfortably as they ended their exchange. Both straightened, regarding her entrance with rapt attention. At the other end of the table, Mikhail halted his conversation with Thalia.

Alicia's Knight lieutenant was a moderately attractive woman; she did not hail from notable stock and her features were only passing in a noble circle. Her best features, the youthful pinch in her eyes and the modest curves of her body might have caught worthy attention, save for the empty expression she wore. Thalia was a woman cursed with, in Prim's words, 'the inability to take her mind from the task at hand.' Thoroughly task-oriented and gruff, the young knight sub-commander had a reputation as an expressionless monster, in impolite company. The intimidating aura she gave off never eased. Even Prim had given up on her attempts to draw a smile from the ever-serious knight.

All four offered their undivided attention to Alicia, as befit the meeting. Offering a curt word of greeting, she took her place at the head of the table. Even though Minister Beasely stood in for the absent royal family, Alicia commanded the militant forces of Feoh, and in a wartime strategy meeting she was second only to royal blood. Magnus occupied that spot beside the chair, at the moment. On recognizing her intent, he bowed his head and graciously stepped around to the side of the table. His warm gaze struck Alicia silent for a moment. As much as she despised the man this Magnus served, she could not find any fault in Magnus himself. He had not shown himself to be a sycophant, and his behaviors always spoke true. He wore his heart on his sleeve, as the saying went. And his heart was honorable.

The slightest warmth tickled her throat as she passed him by. His eyes lingered, not in an untoward way, but rather the way a learned man studied a work of art. While the others prepared their thoughts and collected materials, the mercenary simply… stared. There was nothing unpleasant about it. The hint of a relaxed smile teased the corners of his mouth, and Alicia nearly blushed at the realization that he was admiring her face. That was...

Was it wrong?

Her eyes darted over to Mikhail, seeking a comparison, and found the Pantielle scion engrossed in a large scroll bearing the seal of his family. As if sensing her attention, he glanced up. A smile formed on his mouth, a proper and appropriate smile. It was the smile of a friend, and not anything else. The warmth drained away, and Alicia bit back a frown.

She spent a moment collecting her thoughts before speaking. Gesturing to her sub-commander, Alicia ordered Thalia to report.

"My patrol route went south-to-north" the knight began. "Dividing my column into three forces, I maintained scouts that progressed a half day into known breaches, with secondary response forces available to assist if a threat arrived, and the primary force set in the midst of the patrols to act in force should the need arise. My column stationed out of Redlake for eight days, Kerrhaven for eight, and Marigar for three. Both the burgher of Redlake and the burgher of Kerrhaven reported no sightings or attacks in the last two patrol circuits. The village of Marigar, as you may be aware, had reported significant border activity in the summertime. The investigation, led by Lady Arcturus herself and accompanied by Princess Prim Fiorire, revealed the presence of a wandering swordsman whom the village claim responsible for keeping the village safe. After the investigation, a force of five knights remained in Marigar, commanded by Knight Lacria. Knight Lacria did have one skirmish with a small force of demons consisting of twelve imps and three orcs, which her command destroyed with minimal injury. This happened three days after Lady Arcturus and Princess Fiorire departed the village. Since that event, no further demons have been sighted in the area around Marigar. This extends to the entirety of the border itself. All villages, hamlets, and towns reported a quiet season, and all of my scouts are accounted for. If a single demon has entered Feoh, I would surrender my sword."

The intent was clear enough, and had it been spoken by any knight other than the dour Thalia, Alicia might have grinned at the claim. But Thalia delivered it with such certainty that Alicia truly believed her subordinate would follow through if proven wrong. The thought of losing such a reliable sub-commander made Alicia grimace, or want to. Controlling her expression, the Arcturus daughter merely nodded and cast her gaze about, silently giving permission to any that desired to speak. She expected Mikhail to give a congratulations for a safe and thorough patrol, or for Beasely to ask about the status of the villages they passed through.

To her surprise, it was the mercenary who spoke first.

"How clear are the paths" Magnus asked.

"The paths?" Her brows furrowed, and her expressionless grimace settled on the mercenary. For the seriousness of her gaze, an observer might have thought that Magnus had just challenged the completeness of her patrol. But the question posed no doubt on her capabilities. It was exactly the sort of question a competent commander would follow up such a report with. If the paths were blocked, or snowed in already, then it made sense that the demons had not come through. But if the paths were-

"Clear" Thalia answered. "Barring minor obstructions of the kind one would expect in mountainous terrain."

"Clear paths, but not a single invasion." Magnus fell silent, and his thoughtful frown mirrored the thoughts of those assembled. After a short pause, he spoke again. "I beg pardon for asking this, as I am unfamiliar with Feoh, but what steps have been made to close passages? Have you erected fortifications, or washed out paths, or anything of the kind?"

Thalia glanced to Alicia, seeking permission to reply, but Alicia took the lead on this one. It was her duty as the leader of Feoh's military to handle such responsibilities. "Historically, Feoh has not had the manpower or tools to close off passages. It is not a possibility we have ruled out, but careful consideration has to be made in such projects. It takes many men to built a fortification, as well as great resources and a significant garrison. Both of which we lack. Feoh is a farming region, after all. As for washing them out, the passages on our border are notoriously resilient, and attempts to destroy them rarely hold. There is one fortress at the Scarred Tooth Pass, on the border of Feoh and Ur, but it has been abandoned since the Demon Legion overtook it seventy years ago."

The battle she spoke of was well known in Feoh, and to a lesser extent throughout Eostia. Thirty years after the Dark Queen claimed power in Garan, the Scarred Tooth Fort was overrun by a swarm of monsters large enough to devour the entirety of Ur. The fortress fell in a single day, its gate destroyed by giants and trolls. Responding quickly, the forces of Eostia marched to stem the raging torrent of demons as they poured into Ur. For four months, Eostian forces battled the demons, forcing them back with horrific losses. Celeste Lucross herself took to the field, and the fury of her magic consumed thousands of demons. Four Shields fell in the campaign to retake the Scarred Tooth Fort, and twenty thousand warriors beside them. In the end, the fortress was savaged and blasted apart in a grueling but short siege. Hestia Arcturus, the second of the Arcturus women to hold the title of a Shield was struck down in the gatehouse of the fortress, where she and a small force of Holy Iris knights held the gates open for the dwarven battlemasters to pour through. In the aftermath of the siege, the fortress had been reduced to an irreparable wreckage, and the passage beyond was obliterated by a fearsome spell.

That was the last campaign where Celeste walked on the battlefield. While her magic had accounted for nearly half of the demon forces, the cost had nearly ruined the Goddess Reborn. Whole swaths of land in Ur were destroyed, scoured of life to the point they still could not even grow grass or weeds. In addition, during her focus on Ur, many smaller warbands had savaged the other regions, and without the Goddess to coordinate the Eostian forces, many thousands perished in the ensuing months.

The people of Ur considered the fortress a cursed place. Even the demons seemed to shy away from it in the decades to follow. No one wanted anything to do with that forsaken place. It appeared that Magnus had not heard of it. Understandable, for one who had spent his life on the other side of Eostia. His wisdom showed in his decision to not follow her answer with a probing question. Leaving the matter as it was, he inspected the map on the table and pointed to some of the marked passages.

"If resources were made available, I am sure the Black… Templars, could assist in destroying passages across the border. With your approval and decision, of course. Khoros' men are quite skilled at the task."

"Yes, his men are well equipped for the task" Mikhail agreed, nodding slowly.

Both men turned to look at Alicia. She could not help but raise an eyebrow at their expectant faces.

"Who? Is he one of your mercenaries?"

"Khoros" Magnus repeated, confusion spilling onto his face. "His company is in Feoh, is it not?"

"I think I would know if a company of mercenaries entered Feoh" Alicia replied.

Her answer only drew more confusion from the two, and the men exchanged bewildered looks. Magnus opened his mouth as if to speak, but hesitated, and took a short breath.

"Did Prim not tell you about them?"

"To my knowledge, Prim is still in Ken" Alicia answered, her own confusion mounting.

The room went deathly silent. Mikhail stared at her, an uncomprehending frown on his face. Magnus glanced between them, disbelief on his face. Even Minister Beasely seemed to have some confusion.

"..."

"What? She is in Ken, right?" Alicia turned to Magnus. "I honestly expected her to have arrived with you. But I assume that the Goddess required her to remain behind and assist with-"

"I escorted her to the border myself" Mikhail said, his voice quiet, speaking like a man in a trance.

"You what?"

"I left her at the border. That was...she should have arrived here at least three days ago."

"Prim never entered Feoh" Alicia murmured. A numbing coldness swept over her. Mikhail was not a prankster. He was not a jokester or a liar either. If he claimed to have brought Prim to Feoh, then…

Magnus caught her halfway to the ground. She gasped sharply, her awareness crashing back like a wave striking the shore. Goddess, her legs had just given out on her.

"Lady Alicia" he called out, inspecting her closely, concern evident on his face.

"...Prim never reached the capitol" Alicia whispered. The terrifying thought stole the courage from her soul. In its place, a crippling chill tore through her. Gods, that couldn't be. Not Prim. Where had she disappeared to?

A cold sweat broke out on her face, and Magnus hastily grabbed a handkerchief and dabbed at her forehead.

"Thalia, call your knights. If something happened to Princess Fiorire, we need to find her. Go now." Magnus leapt into action, even as he eased Alicia back to her feet. She watched mutely as he took command, sliding into an authoritative tone that had the dour Thalia snapping to his orders. Numb, Alicia nodded along to his orders, and the knight sub-commander fairly sprinted out of the room.

"Sir Mikhail, does your retinue have soldiers ready to ride? I have thirty horesemen that can mount and ride in minutes. My infantry will follow. Minister Beasely, I need a detailed accounting of the land between the border and here, as well as land routes and border passages."

More words flowed, and Magnus barked orders like a true commander. Through it all, Alicia stood silent, her heart nearly bursting in her chest at the horror of the possibility before her.

"We will find her" Magnus promised, easing Alicia back to her feet. His words carried weight, and the seriousness of his tone bled through the ringing in her ears.

 **-v-**

 **The White Citadel, Ken**

The cold of Ken was much easier to bear than the cold of Garan. There was a lightness to it, free of the oppressive atmosphere of the wastelands, that made even a biting chill welcome and energizing. Perhaps it was the sunlight. Even with cold winds, the warmth of the sun beamed down more often than not. Olga rather liked the sensation of cold air and blessed heat. It had a soothing effect on her soul.

Setting her burgundy glass on the table, the dark elf carefully turned over the page. With Celeste's permission, she had drawn several tomes from the Forbidden Source, and had taken to scrutinizing them in her endless unclaimed time. Her Goddess friend had not inspected the books, and Olga knew that was out of desire to avoid another confrontation. If Celeste had read the covers of these tomes, it surely would have led to anxious words from the delicate high elf, and more hurt feelings.

 _Belsarius' Thaumatic Arts_

 _Rose Leaves and Reanimation_

 _On the Far Shores of Death_

The names were filled with flair and pomp, but the works themselves were serious studies into the nature of various kinds of magic. Specifically, magic relating to death, rebirth, and the realization of immortality. All of which were forbidden studies, and had been outlawed centuries before Celeste had come to power. The only reason these tomes remained was for the naive belief that all knowledge needed to be maintained. On the one hand, Olga agreed that the destruction of knowledge was a terrible and horrific blight on the world. On the other hand, these sorts of books in the wrong hands could lead to catastrophic events.

Olga knew her own limits well enough. She would not abuse her access to these tomes.

Glancing up for a moment, she pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. She had been here, on the balcony, reading since the sun had come up over the mountains. It was getting close to evening now. Her only company had been a servant who brought a noon meal and took her order for afternoon wine. Chloe was… away. The young half-elf had been evasive about her destination, but Olga had secretly delighted at Chloe's decision to leave the White Citadel. If the poor girl was branching out and exploring the city, then there was hope for her yet. Perhaps she would find someone to be a new friend.

As had become her routine, she swept her gaze over the city's gates, checking the flags raised for any indication of a return. Well, a specific return. Louk Shannegh did not have a flag; he was not a Shield, and never would have the honor of that. But the messenger from the border fort claimed he had taken the Mercenary Queen Maia as his travelling companion. If she returned to Ken, he would be right beside her.

With each passing day, she found herself anticipating his return more and more. It was unseemly, and confused her. The only explanation was the intensity of their retreat from Garan had embedded itself in her soul. Admittedly, Olga knew she romanticized his actions. A long time ago, she had been quite the romantic at heart. The cosmic alignments were behind every decision, every encounter. Soul mates were real. True Love was destined for the noble hearts of the world. Olga laughed at those absurd notions now. But she knew a damning shadow of that romantic heart remained with her.

Louk Shannegh had saved her. That fact was undeniable. He had stood against countless enemies and irresistible power to protect her life, and Chloe's. It would be foolish to attribute his actions to a personal level, however. In his own words, he had orders to complete. Olga had merely been an objective. There was nothing between them, not matter how much her withered heart burned at the suggestion.

Her rationalization of the events did little to quell the flutter that rippled through her chest when a shrill and faint trumpet arrangement rose from the northern gate. She had learned the tune well. The arrival of a Shield. There were no Shields currently in Ken, save for Celeste herself. They had all returned to their lands to prepare for this next war. Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the distant gate, trepidation building in her heart as a speck of a body rushed up the gate house's stairs carrying a bundled flag. Lips parting slightly, study forgotten in her apprehension, she waited. The angle of the gate prevented her from seeing any passing into the city. She could only see the wall, and the slowly raised flag as two men attached it to the pole and hoisted it.

A crimson flag with golden edges, and crossed swords over a white circle.

Maia the Mercenary Queen.

Olga was halfway to the door before she realized she had left the tome behind. Biting back a silent curse, she hastily retreated to the chair, guzzled the last of the wine, and scooped the tome up in one hand. Celeste's stock was far too exquisite to leave to air. Fortified by the heady rush of half a glass of wine, Olga returned the tome to her room and locked it in the security cabinet before entering the hallways proper and addressing her guards.

The soldiers of the White Citadel were all veterans of the wars against the demons. They each had a vendetta against Olga, and made no attempt to hide that. Olga knew she was entirely safe and secure from them. They worship of the Goddess far exceeded any personal desires. Still, she could not help the disdain that rose up in her at the way their sullen glares lingered on her. Or the way they leered at her whether or not she was looking. They were not bad men, she told herself. They were battered men. A small fraction of the many casualties of war.

Her escort led her down to the first level, moving quickly and without word. They did not ask questions about her destination, nor would they. It was less they were not curious and more that they did not care. They viewed patrol duty of her person as a burden, and any excuse to rid themselves of her presence for a little while was a welcome one. Olga wondered what rumors were spread about her in the barracks hall. Surely the men had all sorts of fanciful terrors imagined for her activities.

The thought of it brought a smirk to her lips. It was hard to reign in one's pride when surrounded by simpletons and peasants. Those that could not understand the grand designs she had enacted, the herculean effort of holding back the hordes of demons she constantly sent away to fight in the forgotten west of Garan.

Pride had always been a weakness of hers. It was a dangerous thing, to combine power and pride. She had little enough of the former, now. Olga knew she would have to take care to not let her pride turn to vile bitterness. Elves did live a long time, after all.

To her utter lack of surprise, Celeste herself stood in the entrance hall of the White Citadel. A swell of vindication burned in Olga's chest at the sight of the high elf, standing fretfully just inside the large bronze doors, struggling to appear calm and collected. To any other being, she appeared the picture of serenity. Their long history had taught Olga all of the high elf's cues, however, and Olga could see the Goddess Reborn was just as anxious for Louk Shannegh's return as she herself was.

No, Celeste was more, Olga chided. This silly feeling in the queen's heart was just a distraction from the real purpose of her coming to meet Louk Shannegh. The gnawing worry that something had startled, and perhaps terrified Chloe, still flicked about in her thoughts. A man such as Louk Shannegh could get to the bottom of the mystery easily enough. Olga needed Louk Shannegh's talents. Anything else was… a welcome bonus.

"Olga" Celeste greeted, clearly startled by her arrival. The high elf glanced at the guards and discreetly dismissed them. Both men saluted the Goddess and retreated to the side entrance of the hall that led to the barracks. Their departure slid from Ogla's shoulders like a wet blanket. "I did not expect for you to come down."

"I have little company" Olga replied evenly, taking her place beside the Goddess. The fact that she stood even with Celeste drew furtive glares from the various servants and attendants in the hall. Not that Olga cared. "Stretching my legs and welcoming back a friend is only reasonable."

"A… friend" Celeste murmured. "Ah. Yes. You are right, of course. Come, we should greet them outside."

The high elf's eagerness to see the man spilled through her calm facade. Olga eyed her old friend with carefully hidden entertainment. To think she would see the demure Goddess Reborn giddy to see a man, that was a sight worth cherishing. Celeste's childlike innocence had not survived the war unscathed, but like Olga's romantic heart, parts of it remained. It was no wonder those who knew Celeste loved her so dearly.

Still, Olga was not certain that Celeste's eagerness was not infectious, and resolved to not be caught up in it. Following quietly alongside, Olga trailed Celeste out the grand entrance of the White Citadel and onto the marble steps that led down to the courtyard. Soldiers of the White Guard had already arrived and stood in formation, prepared to greet the incoming dignitaries. Resplendent in burnished steel armor and lily-white livery, they took ranks on either side of the entrance and stood to attention. It was a grand, if simple, welcome. No trumpets or musicians stood ready by. Most of the Shields preferred little pomp and fanfare. She had not thought Maia to be one of those.

"Has there been any news from the border" Olga asked as they waited.

"The border has fallen quiet again" Celeste replied. "The mercenary commanders Karen and Tagilli hold the pass and have reported no attacks after the siege."

 _The siege_. It was as polite a term as Olga could imagine for what had happened. Her own familiarity of it was scarce; outside of Celeste's comments she had no idea how the wider world progressed. For all she knew, half of Eostia had been destroyed, and she was none the wiser. These little moments allowed her to catch up with the news, and see that the world indeed still turned as it should.

On hearing the report from _the siege_ , Celeste had ordered the church bells rung three times. She rang the bells for fallen commanders. Three of them. Whatever had occurred there, the simple term 'siege' did not do it justice.

The gates to the White Citadel opened slowly, and Olga caught her breath as the moment arrived. Her chest tightened unconsciously, and she clasped her hands in front of her waist for lack of something else to do. A heady rush tickled the back of her skull she the first horse rode into view.

When Maia had left Ken, she went with the posture and bearing of an arrogant and self-assured woman. On her return, he Mercenary Queen of Eostia had a very different carriage. This Maia was dour, her face creased by a contemplative grimace. The squareness of her shoulders had sagged, and she carried a haunted shadow in her still-fierce eyes. When her eyes crossed over Olga, the dark elf felt a twinge of surprise that the human showed no disdain or anger, as she had before. Her expression was… empathetic. As if she too had witnessed horrors.

Olga wondered again what had happened at the border.

The next in the procession was obscured for a moment as a horse-drawn cart followed the Shield through the gates. It was no military carriage, the horse was old and weathered, and the frame was thin and frail. Filled with crates, containers, and the like. Personal belongings. Had they brought someone back with them?

As the cart rolled under the shade of the wall, the driver eased her hood back and ran a hand through her hair to spill the soft black hair free over her shoulder. For the briefest moment her face remained hidden by her arm, then her hand went back to the reins and Olga's anticipation for this meeting shattered like a mirror thrown to the cobblestone.

"It can't be" she breathed, stunned by the sight of the dark elf sitting silently on the cart. Celeste shot her a sidelong glance, but Olga did not notice as she gazed in disbelief at the woman.

She did not recognize the soft delight in the dark elf's smile as she took in the courtyard, nor did she recognize her hair worn long in a single peasant's braid. Her clothes were of fine make, if dirty, and her body was thinner in all places except those that mattered. But her eyes were the same. They locked eyes, separated by the length of the courtyard, and Olga knew the revulsion in her own eyes mirrored that which flashed across the other dark elf's smile.

She was supposed to be dead.

They were all supposed to be dead.

"Olga" Celeste whispered, concern filling her voice.

The Dark Queen of Garan as not some youthful lass that lost herself to surprises. Smothering her emotions behind the stifling facade of disinterest, Olga held the driver's gaze until the other looked away.

The man she stood waiting to see broke their line of sight. Slinking in at the rear of the short convoy, Louk Shannegh urged his horse to come alongside the cart and spoke with the dark elf. Olga's gut twisted uneasily as the other dark elf broke her gaze and switched back to that silken, endearing grin. The one she had hated for the many disdainful and condescending words issued from between those thin lips.

"They come with familiar company" Celeste pressed, her question lingering like an echo in Olga's ears.

The Goddess only meant well of it. Celeste worried for her old friend. It was sweet, but Olga did not need her pity. Steeling herself, Olga swallowed her pride and nodded to the incoming riders. Louk Shannegh pulled ahead and joined Maia. The two dismounted at the foot of the steps, and handed the reins of their horses to attendants that rushed to guide the horses away.

She expected Louk to step forward and report, to greet the Goddess, and herself. Instead the man returned to the cart and held his hands up to the dark elf driver, while Maia went around to the back. The twisting in her belly clenched like a burning fist when the dark elf accepted his offer and eased down to the ground, held safe in his arms. Much like the way he had assisted her off her horse in Garan. The similarity was not lost on her, nor was the difference of how the newcomer leaned up and whispered something in his ear. There was an intimacy there…

"Lady Celeste," Louk Shannegh greeted, approaching with the dark elf in tow. From behind the cart, Maia led an exhausted and hollow-eyed pale elf woman. The latter had the look of a refugee, a broken sight Olga had seen from afar many times.

"Master Shannegh."

As always, Celeste's gracious tone and warming smile beamed outwards, so that even Olga's flaring anger faded. Inclining her head graciously, the Goddess extended her hand. The dark elf bowed low and took her hand, kissing it briefly in blessing while Louk Shannegh made the introductions.

"This is Grace Campbell, and Anna Florence. Recently of Bold Fortune. There were troubles in the city, and we aimed to relocate them here, to Ken."

"It is an honor" Grace _Campbell_ murmured, her attention pointedly not drifting in Olga's direction.

"It is we who are honored to meet you, Grace Campbell" Celeste replied. "I hope we can settle the two of you into Ken."

The one named Anna remained frozen, eyeing the steps dully, a detached aura dripping from her shoulders so heavily that Olga swore she could taste it. The Goddess waited a moment, then realized that she was unable to respond. Stepping gracefully past the arrivals, she took the mute high elf by the hands and knelt down before her. A flicker of life sparked in the standing woman's face when Celeste clasped her hands together.

"I am so sorry" the Goddess whispered. It did not matter if she knew what had happened, Olga knew. The gentle soul of Celeste could keenly empathize with the hurt radiating from the woman. "Know that we will heal you. You will be restored whole again."

If Olga's suspicions about the woman's fate were accurate, that was a promise Celeste might not be able to keep. A broken body could be mended, usually. A broken mind, less so. And a broken soul… that required a miracle beyond even Celeste's power.

"Olga" Louk greeted, offering his gruff acknowledgment. The shortness of it broke her from her reverie and she regarded him with a mask, afraid to show the warmth his attention infused her with. "I trust you are well."

"My health is fair, Louk. When you have time, however, I would like to discuss something with you regarding my stay in Ken."

"Of course." He took Grace _Campbell_ by the arm and gently pulled her forward. Grace stood taller than Olga. It was a height differential that Olga had never grown comfortable with. Now those luminous violet orbs burned down at her, disgust and anger pouring out flood-like behind Louk's back. "Olga, this is Grace Campbell. Grace, O-"

"I am sure none need be introduced to _The Dark Queen of Garan_ " Grace stated, her voice as cold as Olga remembered it.

"Olga is a comrade" Louk chided.

"I am well aware of what she is" the dark elf muttered. Still, she bowed her head stiffly. Olga did not receive a fraction of the respect that this one had offered to Celeste. "Grace _Campbell_."

Refusing to rise to the bait, to the unspoken taunt hidden behind her words, Olga gave the faintest of nods. "It is good to see you return unharmed, Louk."

Before the conversation grew more uncomfortable, Celeste drew their attention by clapping her hands. The Goddess regarded them all for a moment before speaking. "You appear worn from your travels. Come, let us get you all bathed and fed. I have a room still available in the guest quarters of the tower. We will set it aside for Miss Anna, and I will summon my best physicians and healers to help her. I am afraid, Miss Grace, that it may be crowded for a time.

"I can share Louk's room" Grace announced, looping her arm in his head. She eyed Olga squarely, that condescending smirk unhidden. "His bed too."

An unseemly rage burst in Olga's chest. Her shoulders tightened, teeth clenching tight from the strain of holding herself back. Spasms of mindless, senseless fury swirled through her, turning her vision red. If only for a moment, she pictured the woman engulfed in flames.

Then the rage passed, and the reality of her words settled on Olga with the doom knell of funeral bells. Cold filled the void. Grace _Campbell_ clung to Louk's side, and the man made no show of pushing her away.

"I… ah.I see" Celeste murmured. Olga might have thought the pale elf had gone paler, and the energy seemed to have drained from her posture. "Master Louk, is this true?"

Olga was not sure what she meant by that question. She did not truly care. Her mind had gone numb. Her hands hung limply at her side. A drowning panic choked her thoughts and swamped her lungs, filling them with aching. Her breathing had quickened, and she was certain her cheeks had flushed, though she could not feel anything above her neck.

"She can stay with me" Louk agreed, shrugging carelessly, as if it did not matter.


	21. The First Sorrow

**A/N: Missed my goal of getting this out by New Years, but it's the same week, so close enough.**

 **Stop talking about Goblin Slayer in the review section. If you are a fan of it, fine. Go be a fan in the Goblin Slayer section. Crusade for the righteousness of GS over there, where it belongs.**

 **Reviewers:**  
 **RedRat8 - Louk's a HEART BREAKER, DREAM MAKER, LOVER TAKER... (music continues in background). My opinion on Celeste was always that while as a ruler she is familiar with the suffering and pain of the wars, as a person she would still be very naive and innocent. The first crush is always the most brutal.**  
 **Ronmr - What? It will be fine. Fiiiiinneee. All's well that ends well.**  
 **chronotimeguard - GS is the 50 Shades of Gray for anime. End of conversation.**  
 **Vatican Templar - Their background will be thoroughly explained in the upcoming chapters. There will be so much sniping you could call it Battlefield Kuroinu.**  
 **DanteInfernus - Well, Prim did have her own escort of knights. And you have to remember there was a company of mercenaries with them, and these people aren't used to the concept of betrayal. Look what happened to Ferus Manus at Isstavan V. It totally looked like a good idea at the time.**  
 **Guest - To be fair, Grace didn't know about Olga being there when she and Louk did the dirty.**  
 **Guest 2 - ...yes... Mandeville will get his comeuppance.**  
 **Disciple of Ember - Louk being in the center of a harem-style Love Duodecahedron was inevitable, but he's still Louk. About as tactful and suave as Dunk'er, but without the retard charm. Alicia is going to have her moment in the sun, because at the end of the day, Louk aside, she is still fairly competent as a warrior. Just not composed as a ruler.  
EnriksD8 - Slaanesh approves this review. When the Black Dogs drop, the Murder-orgies don't stop.  
Donaldus Trumpus - Clam down there, Guilliman.  
The Storm Master 567 - Alicia is obviously seeing conspiracy where there is none. That being said, it's about to get real on the western side of Eostia.  
ManwithaPlan113 - Aren't they all means to the end?  
SomeGuyOverHere - Grace and Olga are going to have their past explained. I really liked how StaffSergeant had their relationship in The Night Unfurls, and didn't want to copy it so while the concept is somewhat similar, the details are wildly different. It will not be boring, I assure you.  
Disciple of Ember 2 - NO FORGIVENESS! YOU DISHONOR THIS SITE!  
Abdiel Amaro - I might look into it eventually. Probably won't. The first game(s) were painful enough to dredge through for lore and info.  
zaraki99 - good**

* * *

 **Scarred Tooth Fort**

It was cold.

The stone floor tingled with the winter chill seeping through the broken fortress. Drafts of air flowed through unbarred door frames, whispered through the windows. Each puff of vaporish breath reminded her, in case her mind slipped away from the ever present cold.

Prim moaned softly and lifted her feet off the stones. They were icy to the touch, the heat having bled dry against the fortress floor. In their place, she leaned on her back, shivering at the sensation that she had not yet become accustomed to, and likely never would. This cell was worse than a prison cell. Everywhere was cold. There was no heat, no warmth. Not even a blanket to cover herself with.

Exhausted eyes glanced at the empty doorway. The yawning portal taunted her, inviting in its emptiness, threatening in the implications of what lay beyond. The large brutish leader had warned her thoroughly. Inside this cell, she would be safe from harm. If she so much as set a foot outside, her life and body were forfeit.

It was a threat she understood he would make good on. The distant commotions of the fortress reached her easily enough through her window. Screams of pain, tortured groaning, loud crowds roaring and jeering. Prim had not had the courage to look down and see what sorts of horrible things they were doing down in the courtyard. The remainder of her knights, fewer today than there were yesterday, were also held on this same floor. Speech of any kind had been forbidden. One of her knights had been made an example of for doing it.

The awful sounds still echoed in Prim's ears. She was not sure exactly what had happened, but her imagination had run wild enough.

She still could not understand how it had happened. After parting with Mikhail at the border, her party had journeyed another few hours until they reached a suitable spot to spend the night. Prim had gone to sleep resting in the comfort that she lay surrounded by her knights and hundreds of mercenary warriors. When she awoke, it was to the sound of battle, of confused shouts and clashing blades. There had hardly been time to gather her wits before a mob of men forced their way inside her tent and took her hostage. Khoros the Axe's men.

The mercenary leader ambushed her knights, killing many and beating the rest into submission. Only a handful survived, the others brutally murdered or having fought to the death against the horde of mercenaries. She dared wonder if those who had died had been the lucky ones. The mercenary commander had unleashed something in his men, a dreadful wickedness none had expected. He had become a man possessed, the glint of wicked desires ever present in his eyes.

The sound of approaching feet warned her that she would have a visitor. Shifting her position to rest on her knees, Prim adopted a careful neutral expression. Whoever this was, they would not see her cry. Sometimes his men would come to gawk, to leer and make her uncomfortable. Their intent was to draw a reaction from her. That would not happen. These men would not get anything from her. They could stare, they could mock her. But they would not break her pride.

Bracing herself for whatever was to come, Prim took a slow breath and flexed her fingers against her lap. Rescue would come. It had to. Mikhail and Alicia would notice her disappearance quickly, and come with an army. Khoros had brought them to the Scarred Tooth Fort. It was an obvious choice, in her mind. The first place they would look. The superstition regarding the place made it a prime location for disappearing. It was too obvious. Eostia would come for her soon.

The footsteps ceased just outside her cell, and a tingling chill swept over her that had nothing to do with the cold. Her teeth clenched tight, fighting against the shiver that crept involuntarily up her spine. For a horrid moment, Prim heard the echoes of the agonized screams of her knights, and felt the ghostly sensations of pain her imagination had filled her head with.

A strong hand knocked twice against the threshold. Prim willed her voice to calmness and offered the simple invitation to enter, struggling to hold back the fear that gripped her.

Her visitor strode into the cell, his massive frame filling the door like a dark cloud. Prim gaped up at him, her fear swept away, replaced with a surge of confusion, and hope. Heart leaping into her throat, she sprang up to her feet, heedless of the sudden loss of composure as the man regarded the cell with appraising eyes.

"Vult!"

She was halfway to him when his eyes turned to her, and her surge of excitement shattered. Belatedly, she considered the warnings, all the words that had passed back and forth at the White Citadel; the stories of what had happened to Vult and his men. Apprehension stopped her feet, and she wondered why he had come here. How he could be standing so calmly here, without a sound of battle in the background of a rescue force.

The mercenary general turned slowly to inspect her, and any hope Prim might have had drained away, like body heat sucked out by the cold of the stones she stood on. Vult stood as tall and proud as he always had, his posture was relaxed and he carried that scallywag swagger that had enamoured Prim from her youth. From a distance, there was nothing amiss with the man.

Close to him, the difference was horribly apparent. It was not the slightly asymmetrical grin on his face, or the painfully perfect smoothness of his bare arms. No, it was the brightness of his eyes. A horrible, blinding light that shone from his eyes. From inside that light, buried deep in the shadow hidden inside, a creeping darkness slithered out, spilling an invisible fog of warmth around her. Prim felt it creep between her feet, caress her shoulders. The cold in the room rapidly bled away, and Prim found herself wishing it back as this new sensation enveloped her.

"Hello Prim" Vult uttered, his voice low and sonorous. The words laced the air in a sweet fragrance, a sickeningly pungent aroma that set Prim's head spinning. "It's good to see you again."

 **-v-**

 **Thorn**

Kaguya studied the bared trees as she made her circuit of the inner courtyard. It would be a harsh winter, judging by how quickly the elegant branches had shed their leaves. A rich, carefully cultivated carpet of reds, pinks, and browns covered the grass on either side of the walkways, left to spread evenly so as to not plague the courtyard with unsightly piles or uneven displays. When the time was right, the leaves would be raked and gathered and disposed of. For now, the added color instilled a sense of calmness in those that came here to meditate. The cacophony of color so silent and unassuming. She found it quite peaceful.

Yet the peace the courtyard brought could not shake the unease and questions running circles in her mind. Strange tidings had crept into Thorn, news equally bizarre and unnerving. Mysterious riders had been spotted all throughout the region, cloaked in black and riding wildly across the roads and through towns, never seeming to stop but always in a hurry to reach their destinations. On the outlying villages, disappearances had arose, and not just on the border of Garan. It was all around Thorn. Some of the more vulnerable villages had debated moving deeper into the region, and some indeed already had.

Kagya had studied the map of disappearances, and noted the exodus of villagers coming into the cities. The image of a tightening noose sprang to mind, but she had dismissed it out of hand. The only threat lay to the west, in Garan. Under her orders, a portion of the temple guard had ventured east and south to investigate the disappearances. With luck, they would find it had merely been bandits or vagabonds. If otherwise, she would hand the matter off to the ronin that patrolled the region.

Despite what outsiders believed, Kaguya put significant effort into watching over her people. It was hard to tell, naturally, because she so rarely left the temple. But Kaguya worked through proxy, through servants and officials. It was true, she had little personal experience of the hardships of the people, but she understood the nature of their troubles, and shaped Thorn in a way to ease those troubles. Unlike some of the other Shields, notably Princess Prim and the Goddess Celeste, Kaguya had no position of rulership. Her first and only aim was to serve her God. Anything else was additional to that duty.

A pair of young priests passed her by, bowing their heads in unison by way of greeting. Kaguya offered a nod in return, gracing them with a soft smile. There were few priests in the temple at the moment. Most had ventured out to lead the yearly festivals for winter. Those that remained were mainly initiates and pilgrims. It was a lonely time of year for her. In the past, she had her prized pupil Shamuhaza to keep her company. But he had vanished not long ago, leaving the temple in a fury after a…

Kaguya frowned, and turned her thoughts away from that memory. No good came of dwelling on unfortunate past. Instead, she needed to look to the future, to the needs of her God. Communion had been silent since her return from Ken. Her God had grown detached, retreating from her senses. It was the first time since her childhood she was without his presence, and that disturbed her greatly.

It was related, she knew. To the occurrence in Garan. To the dark riders in Thorn. Truly, she did now understand the scale of the evil unleashed in the blighted lands. Nor did she know what would happen in the coming months. But Thorn was vulnerable.

Ahead of her, across the courtyard, a young initiate stumbled into view. His face was flushed, and his eyes scanned wildly about until settling on Kaguya. Hurrying to her, he shouted for her attention.

"Mistress Kaguya! They need you at the entrance."

A frown creased her expression, both at the initiate's lack of decorum, and the unspoken urgency behind his words. Nodding firmly, Kaguya swept up the long sleeves of her robe and strode towards him, indicating he should lead. She knew where she was going, of course. The poor child seemed so out of sorts that a bit of instruction would hold him steady. Even the simple acknowledgement of his presence could soothe a little of his worries.

"There is trouble?" Her voice maintained its soft, demure tone. Often that tone could calm the most agitated person. With this child, it showed no success. Save to bring an answer forth with less stumbling speed.

"A sick man. He says he must speak with you. The temple guards have him at the entrance, but he insists. Says it is very urgent."

"Is he contagious?"

"The guards think his sickness is of the mind."

"I see." Kaguya paused a moment, glancing to the right as they crossed the temple proper's threshold. The temple portico often was filled with supplicants and priests attending to them. Today, it lay entirely bare. That too troubled Kaguya. The people of Thorn had always been devoted to her God. It was uncharacteristic to see them all vanish so swiftly. There were other factors at play, factors she could not see yet.

Ahead, she saw the commotion at the entrance to the temple grounds. A half dozen guards were there, far more than the usual two, restraining a twitching man that bucked and strained against their grasp. Frantic, uneasy voices passed back and forth, too distant for her to make out, but Kaguya saw immediately the confusion and uncertainty in them all. The man was a peasant, clothed in rough and dirty worker's clothes, with wild hair and burning eyes. A true madman, mind lost either to the sun or to horrors. Kaguya felt pity for him as she approached.

On spotting her, the man went suddenly still, his efforts to free himself ceasing so unexpectedly that one of the temple guards stumbled away. Two held him in place, pinning his arms at his sides. Hurriedly arranging themselves, the rest greeted her with formal bows. The leader stepped forward, placing himself between Kaguya and the man.

"He has not given us his name, High Priestess. But he calls for you, and demands to speak with you."

She smiled reassuringly to the man and bade him step to the side. Approaching the silent man cautiously, she eyed his blank, empty expression. One that just moments ago had been filled with life and energy.

"I am Kaguya" she informed the visitor. "You said you need to speak to me?"

"They are coming" the man mumbled, his voice so low she hardly caught it.

" _They?_ "

"All of them. They are coming here."

There was no life in his voice. His words were hollow, empty, defeated. A creeping dread brushed against Kaguya's spine at the man's behavior. She dismissed such thoughts easily. Her temple was well-protected, and she had the favor of her God.

"Who are they?"

"They want you."

Her guards shifted angrily at the man's words. More than one reached down to threateningly hold their weapons, still sheathed. It might have worked on a sane man, the threat implied, but this one ignored them all as if they were not there. Or, as if he could not see them.

"I am afraid I do not understand."

"They cannot have you" the man muttered. A spark filled his eyes suddenly, a pale violet light. "They are coming for you, but I will not let them have you."

"Speak plainly, you doddering fool" the guard leader barked.

" _You are mine_ " the man hissed suddenly, a flood of wrath and jealousy exploding onto his face like a river bursting a damn. He lunged, throwing the temple guards aside like dolls. Hurtling forward with inhuman speed, he tackled Kaguya even as she recoiled away, shock freezing her mind at the animalistic hunger spilling across his face. His hands gripped her shoulders and drove her to the ground.

" _They cannot have you_ " he roared, spittle flying from his mouth. The burning violet light poured over her, gleaming like hellfire in his eyes. One hand pushed her to the ground, the other grabbed the front of her dress. " _I will have you first!_ "

Kaguya slapped at the man, pushing weakly as he straddled her body and tore at her clothes. He was strong, far stronger than she could expect from his thin build. Temple guard launched themselves at the man, struggling to tear him away. He threw them off like a man pushing children. Nausea surged in her belly as he ripped her robe wide open, exposing her tender skin underneath.

" _You will be mine_ " the man bellowed triumphantly. " _I will cla-_ "

A spear erupted from his chest, spraying her in scalding blood. Kaguya flinched, a shrill scream caught in her throat as another spear took the man from the side. Pinned in place, he went still, his face contorted in a horrifying rictus mask. The light in his eyes faded away, cooling to the dull black of his natural coloring.

"Mistress Kaguya" the commander intoned, hurriedly ordering his men to throw the body to the side. He knelt beside her, hastily covering her with his cloak as she groggily sat up. Her whole body trembled with adrenaline. It felt like she was not quite in her own body, but rather watching from just a step behind.

"I… I an unharmed" Kaguya whispered, struggling to collect her thoughts. She stared about in horror, first at the dead man, then the broken bodies of three temple guard strewn about the entrance. The man's wild strength had snapped bones and crushed ribs. "What… what was that?"

"I don't know" he answered, offering no comfort. "But it is dead now."

Kaguya looked past the man, past the gates, and her horror paled, overwhelmed by the sight in the distance. A gentle cloud rose above the road, seeming benign from afar. Kaguya knew well enough the amount of bodies it required to raise such a dust cloud, however.

 _They are coming_

Her commander turned, saw the cloud, and cursed. Helping Kaguya to her feet, he passed her off to one of his men.

"Close the gates" he ordered, not bothering for permission. "Summon all the temple guard. Something is coming this way."

Something, Kaguya wondered dimly. In the explosion of activity, temple guards running this way and that, one rushing for the bell, another team heading off to grab a cart to barricade the entrance, her attention settled on that one word. The dead man gaped up at the empty sky, his mouth parted in a keening wail she swore she could hear in the faintest whispers around her ears. Not something. People were coming.

"High Priestess, you must retreat" her commander begged.

"I will go into the temple and pray" she agreed. Turning away from the corpse, she swallowed down her unease. Prayer alone would not stop creatures like that. They needed reinforcements. The war had come to Thorn.

 **-v-**

 **White Citadel, Capital of Ken**

Louk set down the report and pinched the bridge of his nose. A pile of similar reports, all hand-inked missives written on soft vellum parchment, spilled over the desk. He had read some of them. In truth though, he had forgotten which. It was hard to tell the difference between them. They were all so shoddily crafted and devoid of details. With such lack of organization and structure in the world, it was a marvel they could even field a standing army. These reports were at best uninformative, and at the worst, misleading. But universally they were undetailed and unhelpful.

He had never thought he would miss the painfully detail-oriented and sprawling tactica reports of the Imperium. They could turn a simple unit ammunition requisition into a thirty page essay. It was superfluous, it was unnecessary. But damn it if they didn't give every pertinent detail in the end. Here, in a world of country bumpkins and barely literate peasants, their recruitment reports barely amounted to more than how many bodies were signed on, and how many reported for training.

It told him nothing about capabilities, about tactics, training regimen, equipment. He might as well not bother reading them.

Breaking into Claudia's room to check them had not been worth it in the slightest.

Turning away from the desk, he let his gaze wander to the quietly waiting dark elf. Grace perched tiredly on the end of the bed, legs crossed one over the other as she leaned slightly back, resting on her hands. It was not intentionally provocative, but the pose brought her sensual figure to full bear. He allowed himself a minute of appreciation as she blushed and looked away.

The haunted rings under her eyes spoke of her visit to Anna's room next door. Grace remained their as often as she could, watching over her friend, leaving only when the physicians demanded privacy and space. It was naive to think that the change of scenery and care would have an instantaneous effect on the high elf. Grace knew that, but knowing the truth did not make it any easier. The truth was often the most bitter of pills, and this particular truth was one Louk had a sense the dark elf knew far better than she was willing to admit. When it came time to leave her friend's side, she retreated here, to rest and recuperate from the nerve-fraying torture of watching her friend's suffering.

His room brought her no reprieve from her worries. Ever since their night together, she had been shy and nervous in his presence. At some point in their ecstasy-fueled hysteria, Grace was convinced she had confessed her love to him. He did not know if she had, his awareness had been somewhat limited by that point, unable to focus on anything beyond the consuming desire for satisfaction. But she was certain she had said it, and the memory of it horrified her. She had spent almost an hour the next day apologizing, and begging him to ignore the confession he had not heard.

Louk understood her well enough. She had said it herself. It wasn't love. Grace had a need, and he fulfilled it for her. It was easier that way, simpler. There were no ties to be cut, no attachments to hold him down. Grace did not come with responsibilities, or duties. She was a spot of relaxation in a tense and urgent war. An immensely pleasurable spot of relaxation, he mused, grinning faintly when her eyes slinked back to look at him.

"Those reports do not encourage you" she noted. Choosing to leave the bed, she slipped past him and approached the desk. His hand came up to brush against her arm as she passed, his fingers barely touching her skin. She flinched away, her blush darkening, a bashful smile forming for a half-moment. Using his reports as an excuse, she picked up one at random and skimmed through it. "These numbers are good, are they not?"

It had not taken Grace long to accept and understand the changed situation of Garan, and the tumultuous events that had occurred. Her mind was sharp, far sharper and more learned than a simple barmaid's should be. That, and the blatantly obvious altercation she had exchanged with Olga Discordia, pointed to an origin far more complex than she let on.

Neither Grace nor Olga had offered an explanation for the heated exchange, and Louk was not going to ask. It had nothing to do with him, and so long as it did not impede his plans he had little need to understand it. Their behavior had been… intimate. The instant familiarity they had shown did not pass his notice. Nor did the abrupt change in Grace's meek attitude when confronted with a powerful sorceress. Judging by Grace's timidity since coming to his room, the dark elf was entirely aware he had noted it. She tiptoed around him, as if afraid she had stumbled into a predator's den. Either she was ashamed of her behavior, or she feared that he might side with Olga over her should it come to a head.

Women were truly mystifying creatures. In hundreds of years, he still hardly understood them. Then again, he had never spent time around 'normal' women. He had not spent time around anything normal. Cults, Inquisitors, Assassins, Daemons… Normal life did not suit him. It could not anymore. And the rash times he had attempted it had only brought suffering and misery to those around him.

Well, his every action brought suffering and misery to those around him.

"They tell me nothing of importance. Bodies alone do not win battles, and if they did then these reports would only make me despair."

"It is a start" Grace acknowledged. She began picking other papers, scanning each in turn. "I heard a figure once for how many the Black Dogs had possessed. These numbers are adding up to that fairly quickly."

"A trained soldier is worth many times his weight in conscripted peasants" Louk replied. "And that is before they are infected with the powers of the creature leading them. If there were a way to level the field, then I would take heart. But you people haven't invented automatic firearms yet…"

"Fire-what?"

"Exactly my point." He walked up behind her. She stiffened slightly at his nearness, not out of fear but anticipation. A distorted reflection of her face showed in the thick glass windows. Eyes low and to the side, lips parted in a halted word, chest rising in short, harsh breaths. Gently, he placed his hands on her waist. The tension drained from her body, and Grace slumped into his grasp. His fingers kneaded into her hips, gently spreading his heat. The tightness in her shoulders felt hard as braided rope against his chin.

"So you are saying we are doomed?" Her words did not carry fear or anxiety. There was almost a playful edge to them, as if she were expecting him to tell her a joke, or that his words were meant as a jest. "I wouldn't say we are without hope. We have the Shields, and we have you."

"There is always hope" he countered. The soft fragrance of lilacs rose from her hair. She had availed herself to Celeste's bathhouse, and taken a liberal helping of the various soaps and perfumes back to his room. Unlike a true low-born, she yet knew the appropriate amount of perfume to wear, and this was neither overpowering nor weak. The little details gave away more of her past than she ever intended to offer.

"Something the matter" she asked, shifted her position to look up at him. An expectant sparkle lit her eyes as she twisted in his hands, pressing her body close to his. He could taste the rising excitement in her body; he could hear the pounding of her heart as her mind began to play out the next moments in her imagination. There was a touch of fear in that excitement, a deliciously savory terror he had smelled on her each time they stood close. Grace had admitted that he was far more… everything, than her previous lover. It terrified her.

A pair of forceful knocks thudded against the door. Grace flinched, her eyes widening slightly as she disentangled herself from his arms. Easing back a pace, Louk released her and turned to the door, ears twitching as he listened to the silence that fell in the room. Outside in the passage, the distinct shuffle of two sets of armored boots ground against the stones.

"You may enter" he told the person on the other side. " _Olga_ " he added in a whisper so soft that even Grace could not hear it.

An armored gauntlet pushed the door open, revealing the sour-faced grimace of a White Guard. Surveying the room with a cold sweep, he nodded respectfully to Louk and took a step back. Quickly replacing him, the deposed queen of Garan padded into the room. Her amber eyes flicked past him, hesitating for a moment on the flustered form of Grace beside the desk, before landing on Louk. A hint of disapproval glittered in those vibrant orbs, but only for a heartbeat. She shifted slightly, lifting her hand to dismissively bid farewell to her guards. They did not move immediately.

"You may leave" Louk told them, a sharp edge to his voice that sent the veteran soldiers on their way without so much as a word of argument. The guards were new to him, something that had not been in place when he left Ken's capital. It made sense, he had been surprised to not see it before. Likely a move advocated and enforced by Claudia Levantine. It was the smart option. Insulated Celeste from divisive rumors, and kept Olga safe at the same time. Louk doubted Claudia cared as much for the latter, but as an advisor to her Goddess, she did a decent job. If she survived long enough to fully adapt to this new threat, she would be a great asset for his work.

"Olga" he greeted. "Make yourself at home."

"Louk" she replied, her listless expression unchanged. It was a peerless mask, worthy of a genecrafter's study for the poise and elegance she maintained at the most straining moments. " _Grace._ I see _you_ have made yourself quite at home."

The dark elves remained silent for a moment. Though Olga's face did not so much as twitch, Louk could feel the glare emanating from Grace behind him. He sidestepped, ostensibly moving around the bed, but in reality placing himself between the two women to break their link. The moment he did, Olga drifted over to the vanity and the bottle of wine Grace had brought up from the kitchens. Uncorking the bottle with a dextrous maneuver Louk did not follow, she sniffed inquisitively and made a soft noise that may have been approval.

"Old enough to be found in a rich man's home, but cheap enough to not draw attention. As expected" she murmured. The unspoken recipient of her analysis stiffened at the judgment. Filling two of the glasses, she took one in each hand and closed the distance to Louk, one outstretched in offering. It was clear she had no intention of pouring a third.

"You told me you needed to speak with me." he accepted the glass and tasted the wine. It was a solid choice, a light and refreshing white that stood well enough on its own without need for an accompanying meal. "I apologize for not making the time yet."

The faintest chuckle spilled from her monotone expression, easing out under the influence of the wine on her tongue. Thin lips quirked towards a smile, the corners of her mouth pulling just slightly in a teasing hint of approval. The power she held in such a subtle gesture stopped his train of thought for a heartbeat, just long enough for him to register the hesitation. Olga Discordia, like so many others in this strange world, was an immensely beautiful creature. She did not need her magic powers to bend a man around her finger. Even so, Louk understood there was no foul play at work here, no ulterior motive. That hint of a smile was genuine. And that made it immeasurably more attractive.

Throne, this place would be the death of him, in more ways than one. He ached to have blood on his hands. To tear himself away from this city of temptation. Even Olga carried herself with an innocence that defied rational thought. The people here were too clean, too vulnerable. Had their arrival here been truly random, or had Virtuoso been drawn to this world for all the delights it held ready for him?

"You are a busy and important man, Louk. I am merely a woman with too much time on my hands and too little to fill it with. When the time is right, I knew you would come to my side."

"I have the time now" he answered. Beckoning to the chair beside the desk, he moved out of her way. Grace, he noted, had retreated to the other side and applied herself to reading through all of the reports. Whether that was to remove herself from the conversation, or to appear more involved in Olga's eyes, he did not know. But if she could translate those useless reports for him, then maybe there was a job for it in her future.

"This matter is best discussed in private" Olga murmured, tipping her head towards Grace. "The air is quite brisk tonight, and the view over the capital is lovely. Would you join me on the balcony?"

"The balcony will be fine" he answered. Draining the glass in one swig, Louk set it down carefully and motioned for Olga to lead the way. Her guards had disappeared from the passage, no doubt standing in the grand stairwell or retreated to the kitchens for food. This would be a private conversation. His curiosity was roused, he could not deny that. Olga had not fully abandoned the title and privilege of a queen; she could not be seen to show weakness in the face of others except a trusted few.

It was indeed brisk out. As Celeste had told him before, the air was clean and soothing this high above the city. No industrial pollutants plagued their breath, no acidic rain scorched their clothes. This was a scene he vowed to never forget.

They stood in silence for a while, surveying the city and the lands around. Louk braced himself, wondering if her words would be directed at Grace, perhaps an explanation of their history.

"Chloe is ill" Olga stated, the words bursting from her calm demeanor unexpectedly.

"Have the physicians seen to her?"

"Her malady is not a physical one." Turning slightly, Olga caught his eye and put a hand over her heart. "I thought it first a simple desire to protect me, that Ken had her off-balance and panicking for lack of ability to defend me. But I fear it is something much more insidious. Something plagues her. Her moods are morose, her smiles far between and poisoned by exhaustion. I cannot bring myself to demand an answer from her, yet I fear that this thing will be the ruin of her."

"You want me to ask her?"

"I want you to discover what hurt her" Olga confirmed, a hint of steel rising in her voice. "And if it is a mortal's machinations, I want them dead."

"Fair enough." Shrugging aside the ease with which she announced the death sentence, Louk let his memory wander back to their arrival in the city. Chloe's attitude had shifted abruptly at that first convocation, the meeting where Celeste had announced the loss of Vult and the Black Dogs. That was where to start. It was not so long past that he could not question the White Citadel's servants and guards for news. Odds were good it came from outside the Citadel's walls; enough men and women came in that Chloe may have had history with one of them. Or perhaps been shaken by a similarity or run-in.

"What was his name?"

Olga frowned at his question. She knew who he meant. "Sir John Mandeville."

"The merchant?"

"It happened some time ago. I am uncertain if the one in the capital is the man himself, or his spawn."

"How long ago?"

"Forty years" she answered. The brooding recollection of that time soured the air. Memories best left forgotten. Louk knew the kind well enough, just as he now knew that elves could not let such memories fade without effort.

"It could be him, then." Louk ran a hand over his shaved chin. "He's a powerful man, with influence. Getting a confession from him will require more brute force than skill, and it will create a havoc in the city."

"Will you see it through?"

A hint of disbelief shadowed her words, the pessimistic expectation of a woman used to the failings of mankind. Olga expected him to back out, he realized. Her previous interactions with humans still colored her opinion of him, to an extent.

"I said I would" Louk promised. He lifted a hand and offered it to the dark elf. "Just have to find the right way to go about it. But I promise you, Olga Discordia, that if John Mandeville is behind Chloe's moods, I will set it right. Kill him, if I need to."

The Dark Queen fell silent, turning her head away. She did not take his hand, but gripped the railing and took a long, calming breath. "I am indebted to you, Louk Shannegh."

"No, you are not. I will never hold you to a debt." His hand dropped to his side. "A good parent looks after their children. Chloe may not be yours by blood, but the relationship between you is as close as it could be. I know I would want the same for my…"

His words trailed off, bitten back by instant regret as that dangerous line of thought summoned spectral faces in his vision. Two alien, exotic faces, slender and thin, with breathtakingly bright blue eyes. One's face softened in a mournful frown, her hair black as the void. The other's expression cold as laser-cut marble, framed by a mane of pure white. The sudden aching in his heart pressed against him, the desire to see them again overwhelming his senses.

"You have children" Olga asked, her tone neutral and unassuming. Her attention had returned to him. This time it was Louk who turned away.

"Daughters" he answered.

"Do they look like you?"

He forced a chuckle he did not feel. "They look nothing like me. Take after their mother completely."

"Their… mother. Of course."

The silence passed over them again, and Louk willed their faces to sink back into memory. Thinking of them would only distract him, confuse his purpose. He needed his full faculty for this war.

"Is she waiting for you?"

"She died in childbirth, or so I was told" he answered. "When it happened, I was nowhere near her. I was… locked away for a crime I had committed."

"I am sorry." Her slim hand pressed against his shoulder, a simple but powerful gesture of solidarity from such a woman.

"Happened a long time ago" he grunted. "Immortality is a cursed thing. Watching others life, grow, and die while you are helpless to bring them along with you."

Louk changed the subject. He did not like where it had gone.

"I doubt Chloe will give me an answer if i asked her directly. Tomorrow I ride to Geofu to meet with Claudia Levantine regarding border security. I can take Chloe with me, see if a trip outside the capital loosens her tongue."

"That would be acceptable. The fresh air would do her mind and body good."

What was left unspoken was Olga's desire to accompany him. It had less to do with being by his side and more to do with gaining freedom from her prison. The White Citadel was a nice prison, the nicest equivalent he had ever seen, but a cage is a cage no matter how gilded. The restlessness that bled into her posture for a fleeting moment registered in his mind. He could do nothing for her there. Celeste could not afford to let her out; it would undermine her standing with the land, and explode the rumors swirling darkly around Olga and the Goddess.

Louk regarded her expectantly. He had found, oddly enough, that Olga was a much easier woman to look at than Celeste. The high elf Goddess exuded such raw innocence and beauty he struggled to stay in her presence alone. She was a light against his raging darkness, and it made him uncomfortable and ill-at-ease. But Olga, she was a dark, sultry wonder, a stunning figure with that mesmerizing caramel skin and haughty air that tickled his fantasy. The earnestness of her spirit, and the hard-edged bitterness of her soul, it struck a familiar chord within him. So much so that he found he could easily take in the staggering beauty of her tightly-clad body without becoming lost in her sensual curves or inviting eyes.

She was the closest thing to his home he had seen yet in this virgin world. Gorgeous, bitter, powerful. So very unlike those around her. A being out of place and out of time.

"Why did you tell me that" she asked him, returning his gaze with fearlessness, the listless expression fixed. It was an unnaturally becoming look for her. On any other being, it would be arrogant and off putting. Somehow the Dark Queen made it as attractive as an inviting smile.

"Tell you what?"

"That you have daughters. You are man of secrets and mysteries, Louk Shannegh. I would wager that is the most revealing truth you have given any in Eostia."

He did not have an answer to that. In all honesty, he was not certain why he had admitted so much of his personal life. Was it because of the familiarity he felt for her soul? Or was Eostia wearing down on his defenses, smoothing the harsh walls he protected himself with? For a brief moment, his thoughts danced over to Grace. That relationship was purely physical, a simple case of gratification. But it had been so long since he had bedded a woman. Had that chipped a crack in his will? He knew painfully well how quickly a chipped wall could crumble.

A slight, barely perceptible prick of fear danced across his thoughts. If someone on this world were to bring that wall down, they would all be doomed.


	22. As Men March To War

**Author's Notes: So with the New Year comes a resurgence in local tabletop gaming, hence my excuse this week. been building Bolt Action tanks and dudes, making impulse purchases on the latest Warhammer Fantasy RPG to start plotting new campaigns, and generally been sucked into the seductive hellscape that is Xenoblade Chronicles 2. God that game is beautiful, if grindy AF.**

 **Reviewers-  
** **DanteInfernus** \- I mean, you're not wrong. They're in a pretty bad spot(s). But Louk rarely plans that far ahead with torture. He likes things to be in the 'spur of the moment.'  
 **RedRat8** \- "Oh God, I'm being human!" - Louk at that moment. The thing is, people tend to die horribly when he tries to be human.  
 **Machia** \- mainstream fandoms are too much of a hassle. I tried dipping my toes in Mass Effect / Warhammer, and the godawful neckbeardiness of the fanbase turned me off from working on the story.  
Disciple of Ember - But the Penitent Crusade can only end with you turning to Chaos and coming back to cause exponentially worse damage to the Imperium. Everyone is loving that Administratum joke. You know what they say, fondness only grows over distance (or something vaguely like that). Eostia is certainly about to get introduced to a whole new style of war, and it's coming a wee bit faster than Louk was expecting.  
 **Guest** \- Louk has spent so much time with his head up his own bum he… (can't think of funny punchline). Don't worry, the CHOPping will come soon.  
 **StaffSergeant** \- Hope things are going well for you too! I look forward to the updates. Need me some good old Bloodborne-Eostia murdering to happen.  
 **EnriksD8** \- glad you like it!  
 **FrancisVamp0822** \- To be fair, original fairy tales were pretty gruesome and rarely had happy endings.  
 **Donaldus Trumpus** \- The Orks will pay for it. Always the Orks. Out of TEEF  
 **DarkQueenOriga** \- so you posted on Chapter 1, so I have no idea how far you've read so I will try to avoid spoilers. Armor is a real thing in this, as is noted in a couple author notes and other bits here and there in the story. Louk would have no idea what a crossbow is, since 40k is a bit beyond such contraptions. And 40k doesn't hate ranged combat, it just has such a ludicrous amount of bodies in war that ranged combat is more of a buffer than an eliminator. You're also assuming that Olga has any pull in the lands to the north. Being the leader of demons for a century generally doesn't bode well for political ambition. And finally, the Sex Empire isn't a thing in this story. It doesn't need to be. As for the rest of the review, you have some pretty spot-on ideas otherwise. Firearms and crossbows would level the playing field, but Eostia had limited access to them, and certainly not enough to equip a brand new army at a moment's notice. You have to remember though, their entire military was essentially the Black Dogs. That's a lot of replacement weapons to make.  
 **SomeGuyOverHere** \- No, it's still only Slaanesh. But every region of Eostia is going to get its own taste of the Dark Prince. After all, why conquer a world one way when you can do it SIX ways? Grace and Olga kind of became an unexpected thing in my head as I was conceptualizing Grace's place in the story. They pose quite an interesting foil to each other so far. And will continue to do so in the very, very near future. And yes, good old bloodshed will be coming soon. It has been far too long since Louk got to murder something. But it will be soon.  
 **Sperance** \- Yeah, that threw me off too. Way too many solid fics for its original content. And you are perhaps one of the few who understood that human vs elf dynamic from the get go. Humans are distrustful, short-tempered, and short-sighted. Elves play the long game, and recognize things that humans can't simply because their lives are so different. The elves in this story are all old by human standards. They've been around the block, and if you haven't noticed, they've all personally experienced some shit that none of the humans can compare to. Broken people recognize each other. As for Louk and elves, that is an oft-repeated question. I think it is more the writer has an elf fetish. ;D But seriously, He does have a thing for pointy eared beauties. He is 'only human' after all. **  
**

* * *

 **The Road to Castle Levantine**

It had been intended as a simple ride to Geofu. Louk had initially planned on riding by himself, but after Olga's worries he had no problem inviting Chloe alongside him. The young half-elf had balked at the thought at first, horrified by the idea of leaving Olga unattended and unguarded. It took Olga herself to convince the younger woman to accompany him.

A compromise was made: the mercenary Diane, freshly returned from the border with a report of no activity, would take over Chloe's duty as a personal guard of the Dark Queen. The pale and exotic mercenary accepted without a word of complaint. There was no lurking resentment in that woman's eyes at the sight of the dark elf sorceress. No anger, no repressed rage. Having accompanied them out of Garan, Diane was privy to secrets that many in Eostia were not. She understood, more so than others at least, what Olga had done as the Dark Queen. When the mercenary vowed to protect Olga with her life, Chloe believed it, and relented.

The pair left Ken at the crack of dawn, slotting nicely between the farmers coming into the city while it was still quiet and the swamping crowds of morning traffic. Two riders crew little attention on the way out of the white walls of Ken, save for the pair of eyes watching from the distant tower in the heart of the city. Louk felt them even at such a distance, knowing full well that Olga Discordia stood watch over them, and that doubt would have started gnawing at her heart with Chloe's actual departure. The motherly concern she had for the half-elf was unmistakable. This would be perhaps the first time she had allowed Chloe to leave her sphere of influence. No parent enjoyed seeing their child off on their first adventure. He would bring Chloe back unscathed, of course.

As the neighboring region, Geofu was not a great distance away. Castle Levantine stood near the center of the territory, but close to the mountain borders. Virtue of placement had led the Levantine family into a generation-spanning familiarity with warfare, turning the once-humble family into one of the most well-respected noble houses in Eostia. That line of warriors ran unbroken for hundreds of years… until the current scion of the house. Klaus Levantine was anything but a warrior. He reminded Louk of the Administratum adepts; at least, the ones he had appreciated. His body was sickly and weak, a fragility unhelped by his time spent in dusty studies. Though his mind was sharp and his insight keen, he would never amount to anything other than a scholar. Not that it was a bad thing. The world needed scholars almost as much as it needed warriors.

During the man's brief stay at Ken, while he and Claudia had attended to the Goddess, Louk had run into him several times in the libraries. Always in the libraries. The man must not have gone anywhere else during his time in Ken. It struck Louk as pitying that the man who had wooed the most powerful warrior in the land was so ironically deficient in the same areas. They were a most curious couple, one that he had not seen the like of before. And while both clearly loved the other, and treasured their relationship, Louk knew it was doomed to fail. If Claudia fell in battle, Klaus would die of a broken heart. He did not have the strength to survive her death. And if he fell, Claudia would fall apart. She was far too invested in too fragile a man. And if they both lived to a ripe old age, their bloodlines would fail together, and Eostia would lose what could have been the most advantageous genetic line it had ever seen.

Not that it was any of his business.

His riding companions, Chloe and Maia, rode in relative silence. To his surprise, no biting barbs had been exchanged. The two women appeared entirely satisfied with not engaging each other, and endured each other's presence without complaint. There was still a heat between them. Even with Maia's newfound knowledge it did not excuse Olga's past actions, in her own mind. And Chloe still held her disdain for humankind on her sleeve. Eventually one of them would say something, and the two would go off on each other like rabid animals. The last thing he had wanted was to babysit a pair of hot-headed women. Still, Maia was proving useful, and Chloe had behaved so far.

They passed villages and hamlets on the road to the Levantine estate, and to the casual observer it appeared that the land was entirely at peace. The peasants did not carry the wary urgency of a threatened people. No lookouts at the edge of the villages, or mounted patrols checking the roads for signs of danger. The people of Geofu were enjoying a peace that they wanted to believe was there. As long as the Levantine castle held, perhaps they could. Positioned strategically to block nearly all invasion routes from Garan, it was a formidable construction of stone built on a sloping hill with a commanding view of the countryside. Two layers of thick walls protected its keep, crenellated and armed with ballistas, at regular intervals. A moat surrounded the outer layer, not terribly wide but steep enough to prevent enemies without siege equipment from reaching the walls. That feature had been added after the first invasions by the demons.

In the cleared fields outside the castle, a growing army waited for them. Thousands of conscripted men and women from all over Eostia had been funneled through recruitment bureaus to Castle Levantine for training. Here, the Dawn Templars and veteran soldiers of the Levantine holdings were tasked with the arduous work of taking these peasants and turning them into something amounting to true soldiery. It was possible, he conceded, but not in the time frame he expected they would have. Training a man to shoot was easy. Training a man to kill was something entirely different. At least the majority of their enemies were demons, things that Eostia had been ingrained to hate. The motivation would be there, when the time came. Training them to survive long enough to take advantage of that hatred was the hard part.

Having Maia by his side allowed him to bypass the guards and enter Castle Levantine without pause. It would have only taken a moment for his own identity to allow entrance, but skipping even a minute of delay for something so monotonous made his day that much better. The interior of the castle bustled with activity. Guards roamed the walls in irregular patterns, shifting their speed and paths to avoid predictable patrol routes. A small village had sprung up in the normal training grounds, and the clamor of swords had been replaced by the clang of pots and the hiss of steam rising from endless barrels of soup and other foods. Dozens of cooks, servants, and ancillaries darted about amidst the ordered rows of food preparation, reminding Louk of ants bustling about an anthill.

"Looks like they were expecting us" Maia murmured as they walked their horses to the middle of the courtyard. Stable boys rushed up to take their mounts even as the doors of the castle opened and a pair of dissimilar men strode out to greet them.

Grave Levantine and his son Klaus met them halfway, the former grinning welcomingly, the latter's face stoic and filled with unease. Louk clasped Grave's hand, shaking it firmly but respectfully.

"The Reaper himself visits us! And in the presence of such lovely warriors" Grave said. "To what do we owe the honor?"

"Sir Levantine, Klaus." Louk nodded to each in turn. "I wanted to speak with Claudia regarding the conscription, to see how the training was coming along."

"Ah, well that will have to wait. My daughter took a squadron of her knights to investigate a reported incursion near the mountains. A small thing, probably peasants leaping at their own shadows. I am sure you will be pleased with the status of training, however. Eostians are not fond of war, but they apply themselves when called to it."

"I hope they do" Louk dared to agree.

Letting his gaze slide past Louk, Grave greeted each of Louk's companions in turn. "Maia, a pleasure as always. Can't say I expected to see the Dark Queen's servant here. Is that one here too?"

"Chloe is not a servant" Maia responded, unexpectedly coming to the half-elf's defense. "And no, Queen Olga remains in Ken at the White Citadel."

"Bah, makes it easier then. Don't think the men would like seeing her about. Bad for morale, and all that. Come, are you hungry? I don't have a feast ready, unfortunately. Claudia thought it best to show solidarity with the new recruits by having us all eat the same as them. We were about to go down and join in for noon meal."

Louk glanced backed at the other two. Maia shrugged, but Chloe's face was set as a marble statue. Her baleful attention had settled on Grave, distrust and anger carved onto her expression. Food was not on her mind at the moment. Likely it wouldn't be for some time.

"Don't think we're hungry" he admitted. "If I could be escorted to your strategy room, I would like to review reports, then we can discuss them once you finish your meal."

"I can show them, father" Klaus cut in, seeming a tad too eager to offer. The scholarly man was nearly two decades younger than his father, but his premature aging had it looking the opposite. "My stomach is not inclined as it is."

"That works" Grave agreed, though the hint of derision that flashed across his eyes at his son's idea did not escape Louk's attention. "Klaus will take you to the books. I'll go walk about and encourage the men, see to their training. I am sure he can answer all of your questions."

 **-v-**

 **Scarred Tooth Fort, Border of Ur**

It had not taken them long to find it. As remote as it was, the Scarred Tooth Fort still drew eyes, and any hint of activity spread out like a rolling fog, rumors drifting from village to village of armed men being seen about the ruins of the old fortress. Of distant screams rising in the night, and horrifying shapes lurking on its battlements. The country folk that dared to live in its shadow fled to the villages and towns further away, insisting that a great evil had fallen on the place to possess it once again.

Those rumors attracted Alicia's attention like a moth to the flame. Their search had already led them to the border Thorough questioning of each village and hamlet north of the border confirmed her worst fears, and Mikhail's steadily rising horror: Prim's party had not been seen by any living souls in Feoh. The only logical conclusion was that they had turned east, to the mountains. And there was only one place they could conceivably hide a force as large as the one that had escorted Prim.

Her frantic worry rendered her nearly ill. Sleep did not come to her, and her driving urgency threatened to exhaust herself and her knights before they found Prim. Her limbs grew heavier with each passing hour as lack of sleep and constant riding ate at her strength. She knew she was pushing herself too hard, and so grudgingly turned to the two men with her to lead the search. Magnus the mercenary particularly insisted that she rest, even fitfully, to recoup her strength. So they went forward in waves, first her knights, then his riders, then Mikhail's. In that way the pace was steady, but each force had time to rest.

Magnus was perhaps the only one of the three to have a measure of calm and collected thought, she knew with bitter resentment. Not resentment at his authoritative orders, or the professional way he conducted himself. No, her resentment lay on herself. She was the Knight Commander of Feoh, and yet she was fully aware of pushing herself beyond her limits, and that it would be a detriment to the search for Prim. Alicia could not bring herself to stop on her own accord, though, and in truth Mikhail was not much better.

The oldest son of the Pantielle family was as distressed as she was, moreso because he had been the one to let her go at the border. He blamed himself entirely, and could not be persuaded otherwise. While his accepting of responsibility was commendable, he too shouldered too much of the weight, and it was affecting him just as badly as it affected Alicia. Dark rings hung under his haunted eyes, and his temper grew short with his subordinates, as if channeling his self-loathing at his mistake into a furious dressing-down of his men.

Magnus was the rock in this. Alicia was grateful for his soothing presence. He did not try to allay her fears, or absolve either of guilt. That was not his job, and he did not step outside of his boundaries. Instead, he focused on finding Prim in the quickest and most efficient way possible. Staggered search patterns to allow rest for riders. Lines of communication between scouts and the main detachment. Consulting with aldermen for areas where a mass of men could be hidden from view.

It all led to the Scarred Tooth Fort.

Thought she had never been there, the thought of the place filled her with a sense of dread. Not only was it the sight of a cataclysmic battle between the Demon Legion and the Goddess Reborn herself, but one of Alicia's ancestors had fallen there. The fort had been turned into a trap, one that the Eostian army had flung itself into knowing full well what lay inside. So many had perished that the placed had been assumed haunted. No one in their right mind would think to go there.

Only the desperate, or the truly cunning.

She gazed at the decrepit walls, ancient stone battered by siege artillery long gone from the battlefield. Here and there partial breaches had been achieved, but the walls were thick, and built to withstand even landslides from the mountains on either side of it. The only way in had been the gatehouse. A large, imposing and well-armored portal guarded by a heavy portcullis at each end and a twenty foot passage. It was a marvel of a castle, or at least had been in its inception.

Now it was a ruin, with crumbling features and empty battlements. Where there had once been bright pennants and lively activity, only the wind decorated its walls. Gusts of dust from the mountain pass flickered across its battlements, a constant sea of fine particles that steadily weathered the unmaintained fortress. In ten thousand years, perhaps the walls would be sanded away, its integrity whittled away piece by piece until the whole thing came down.

The walls were empty.

The earth below them were not.

Her breath came shallow and fast, horror and fury swirling about in her head like rabid dogs raging for dominance. One hand gripped her sheathed sword, the other covered her mouth to prevent an unwanted sound from escaping; whether a choked cry or a raging shout she was not sure. Beside her, the rest of the scouting party lurked in the shadows of the jagged mountainside along the path, clinging to cover to hide their presence. They could all see it. All were as horrified.

Broken, bloodied bodies lay at the foot of the walls. Dark smears showed their path as they had been pushed over the battlements, rolling and bumping down until they crashed lifelessly into the earth. Alicia knew enough of her Holy Iris Knights by sight to recognize them. Her sisters, her precious, wonderful sisters. They had been stripped naked, and the bruises and cuts on their bodies demanded the unthinkable explanation.

"Alicia." Magnus placed a firm hand on her shoulder. With a start, she realized she had risen to a half-crouch. Ducking back behind the rocks, Alicia fell to her haunches and turned away. Her jaw trembled. An indescribable breathlessness pressed against her chest. It felt as if her heart had gone suddenly cold, and with it an infectious numbness spilled through her body.

"Mikhail, order the scouts back. They say nothing about this to the others until we say so." Magnus lifted his hand, and eased up to one knee beside her. The calm expression he had worn was gone now. A cold, furious rage bubbled under the surface of his flesh. Alicia stared up at it, dully recognizing that same fury as being trapped inside her head. It was going to hit her, in a moment. When the shock wore off.

Goddess, she had fought against demons so many times. This was the first time she had felt numb since the death of her mother.

"Magnus" she whispered. Her voice nearly broke from the strain of containing the splitting pain in her skull.

"Yes?" His attention remained on the fort. A predator's intelligence gleamed there. Studying the walls, identifying weak points. The sight of the dead had not made him hesitate. So very much unlike Mikhail, who staggered weakly with the others back towards the bend that hid them from view.

"Is… is Prim there?"

"No" he answered grimly. "But I count all but three of her escorts. She won't have the same fate. The knights were.." he glowered, as if his next words were blasphemous. "They were unimportant. If this was a trap, Prim's life alone would bring us in. If they want a ransom, Prim's life is the only one they need. She will be safe, Alicia."

Alicia closed her eyes for a moment, and immediately wished she hadn't. A dozen faces appeared before her. The knights of Prim's escort. Knights they had ridden to Marigar with, and just days ago rode on maneuvers with in Ken. She had left them behind. She had sent them to their deaths.

Her stomach lurched, and Alicia frantically pushed forward, throwing her head clear of her boots as bile built in her throat. Magnus was by her side in an instant, scooping back her hair to hold it back. There was no need for it. Alicia bit her tongue and swallowed back the dizziness. There would be a time for mourning later, she knew. It was academic in her head, a part of the ingrained tutoring from Claudia. She wished she could make it reality and quell the burning in her gut.

"Magnus…" she focused on her breathing and slowly sat back against the rock. A flask appeared before her, and she greedily sipped at the tepid water inside. The sensation of liquid on her tongue set her stomach churning again, and she groaned softly. "I cannot do this."

The man said nothing.

"I… I relinquish command" she voiced softly. The words did not hurt as much as she had thought they might. "For I am not in the right mind. Goddess help me, but I cannot do this."

"We will get Prim back" Magnus assured her.

She nodded stiffly, wishing she could believe him. Her knights, while skilled in all forms of battle, lacked siege equipment. Magnus' men had the look of well-rounded veterans, but they too had no ranged firepower to speak of. The Scarred Tooth Fort did not lend itself to melee assaults. The gate alone could stop them in their tracks. If either of the portcullis still worked, she thought grimly.

Never in her life had she even considered the possibility of besieging a fortress. The demons lacked the intelligence and skill to man such locations, and a fort had not fallen in nearly three decades. She wished Claudia were here, or LuuLuu. Either of them would know what to do. They had the skill and wisdom to take the fort.

Her thoughts were jarred from her mind when a booming voice rose from the fort.

"If you're done skulking about, why don't you come on inside!"

Her blood froze. Beside her, Magnus cursed and went rigid, the blood draining from his face. Remaining motionless, the mercenary held a hand in front of her to keep her still.

"They can't have seen us" Magnus muttered. "It could be bluster."

"No" another voice countered, emerging from behind them.

Magnus whirled about, raising his sword in the time it took Alicia to scramble to her feet. Drawing her own blade, she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the mercenary commander. The pair pressed their backs against the rocks, and scoured the surrounding terrain. Her breathing pounded in her head, each rasping breath beating against her skull like a marching drum.

"That's impossible" Magnus grunted. "Show yourself."

An armored figure slipped out from the shadows cast by the rocks. He had been standing just feet away, in plain view, but somehow the his whole form had blended into the shadows. Alicia could not believe it. Her eyes had passed right over him without notice. Neither could Magnus, who cursed again and shifted over to place himself between the newcomer and Alicia.

Her heart skipped a beat, and the churning in her stomach went still as the grave.

"The chivalrous Magnus" Vult cooed, a jaunty grin dancing everywhere but in his eyes. The mercenary general placed his hands on his hips and clicked his tongue. "And what are you planning on doing with that, boy?"

"You aren't Vult" Magnus growled. "Begone, daemon."

"I wouldn't use that word so lightly" Vult continued. He spread his hands, and ran them over his body. "Calling your old general such an insulting word."

"Are you behind this" Alicia demanded. Sure enough, it was Vult in front of them. But this was not the same Vult she had known before. This one was… too confident. The old Vult had always been full of confidence and vigor, but there had been a rough edge about him, an unpolished stone that still glowed brighter than the sun. This Vult… he radiated such a singular focus that it hurt to look at him. Her eyes ached from staring too long, and she realized with horror that her sword had dropped to her side. As had Magnus'.

"Why don't we go inside? I am sure we can discuss it all in more comfortable circumstances. The wind here does awful things to such beautiful flesh."

The mercenary general ushered them along with a single gesture. Something lashed at Alicia's legs, a grasping tightness that pushed her feet along without her consent. Fear washed through her as both she and Magnus started walking. From the man's expression, it was clear he too had not made the conscious decision to follow.

Vult's chuckle sounded like winter bells and giggling children.

 **-v-**

 **The White Citadel**

Grace sighed quietly and set the report to the side. She understood now why Louk had been so frustrated by them. Before he had left, he had agreed to allow her to sort through them and act as she saw fit. To that end, in her desire to prove useful, Grace had undertaken the task of compiling all the small and scattered reports into something more concise and legible.

She had not understood the monumental nature of the task. If she had, she might not have offered to do it.

Her right hand ached from the constant writing, and her eyes throbbed from all of the reading. The room was well-lit, with open windows and a myriad of candles available. It had been a long time since she had done this much scribe-style work. A small part of her enjoyed it, but mostly she kept herself moving by thinking what Louk Shannegh might say when he returned. That fragile smile he showed her stuck in her mind, the facsimile of happiness he wore for her benefit. Maybe, just maybe she could turn that smile into a real one some day.

The thought made her shiver, and not because of the cold. They had not been together since that night on the way to Ken. Lurid memories of the night constantly haunted the shadows of her awareness whenever he came to mind. On the one hand, his physicality had terrified her. He was so much stronger than her, to much more aggressive. And so damn skilled. His hands found places that she had not even known…

Biting her lower lip, Grace steepled her fingers and stare across the room. When he got back, she might ask him. The thought weighed on her, stirring vague sensations of guilt. Her husband had been gone for a hundred years now. She did not owe her body to him anymore, and she knew he would want her to be happy. But she would have to be careful. Louk Shannegh would not intentionally hurt her. A few oils would solve that problem, she wagered.

A sharp rap on the door alerted her to a visitor. Grace tensed ever so slightly; there were few visitors on this floor. Celeste had made it clear that access was restricted due to Olga Discordia's presence. Apart from the physicians and those vetted by the Goddess herself, none could enter.

"Come in" she called out, wondering if it were the physicians for Anna. The high elf had begun to recover, slowly. Each day she showed just a little more life, albeit in painfully small increments. Grace refused to consider that Anna may never fully heal. The bond they shared was far too precious to her to accept such a possibility. It may take decades, but Grace and Anna had all the time in the world.

A scowling guard stepped inside, followed by the Dark Queen herself. Gooseflesh prickled on Grace's arms as the guard tipped his head to her.

"The Dark Queen would like a word with you" the guard announced. "Do you want us to stay?"

 _I want her to leave,_ Grace growled in her mind.

"I will be fine" Grace assured the man. "Thank you for your diligence, sir."

The door closed behind him, and the two dark elf women sized each other up. Grace refused to stand. The wretch in front of her did not deserve the respect.

"Campbell" Olga Discordia mused, saying the name slowly, making it sound like a denouncement. She huffed, and let her listless gaze sweep the desk over which Grace had poured so many hours of work. "I guess I should not be surprised. You never were one for loyalty."

"Loyalty has nothing to do with it" Grace hissed. The barb had shot straight under her skin, through her defenses as if they had not been there. Heat flared in her cheeks and she pushed the chair back, rising only so she could look down on the shorter elf. "I was given the name by the priestesses who nursed me back to health."

"It is not your name."

"It is now" Grace countered.

Olga Discordia stopped in front of the desk. Clasping her hands in front of her, she gazed unflinchingly into Grace's anger. When she spoke, however, there was a steel edge to her tone. Like a tempered blade hungering for its first taste of blood.

"You are a Discordia, Grace. Or did my brother mean so little to you?"

"Don't you dare use him against me" Grace snarled. "I loved your brother."

"You murdered my brother" Olga snapped. Her disinterested face did not hide the queen's own anger.

"He was just as eager to reclaim Garan as the others."

"He was an artist, not a fighter. You pushed him into going to Mournival." Olga's words punched at Grace, but she deflected them with her simmering indignation. "You are the reason he is dead."

"I am the reason?" She laughed, a caustic sound that threw its own assault at Olga Discordia's defenses. "Where were you when Mournival fell? _I was there_. I was with _my people_ when the demons came. Where were you, Olga? Where was the most powerful sorceress in the land? We fought and died for our people while you and the _Goddess_ flitted about through the kingdom like wasteful youths."

"I did not want to go to war for a lost dream."

She gazed down at the Dark Queen, derision building in her own self-righteous anger. Oh, how she had despised the young Olga. A noble-born, entitled child, spoiled by her friends and family. Always galavanting off without warning, disappearing for weeks at a time to cause mischief with her comrade-in-knavery Celeste. Grace had hated her for the uncaring attitude she showed for the responsibilities she owed. Olga Discordia had been born to the right family, at the right time, with the right power. And she had thrown it all away.

Grace despised her for that. Even before Mournival, before Olga Discordia became the Dark Queen of Garan. Olga Discordia had been a brat with no concept of discipline, of work. No respect for the ties that bound her bloodline.

"You killed him" Olga repeated, her voice cold and emotionless. "He would have been far north had you not persuaded him to join the others."

"Your brother agonized over the decision for weeks" Grace countered. "And I was by his side every day. He knew it was the right thing to do."

"The right thing to do?" Olga let out a small, bitter laugh. "To marshal so many of our people and march into a lost land, to fight and die for the sake of my family's lost pride? That was the right thing to do?" The Dark Queen allowed a small sneer to crease her lips. "You wanted power. I told him from the start you were a poison. But never in my life had I thought you would goad him into his death all for the sake of your-"

"I loved your brother" Grace cried out, slamming her fists into the table. Hot tears formed in her eyes.

"Loved him enough to change your name the instant he was gone, and then open your legs for the first man to come knocking on you-"

She rounded the desk so quickly that even Olga was taken by surprise. Her hand sliced across the Dark Queen's face, and the ringing slap sent the Dark Queen staggering backwards. The violence of the action stunned Grace. She stood motionless, gaping at Olga Discordia in astonishment, her own disbelief overwhelming her anger.

It was supposed to be the other way around. That was how it had always been. Olga Discordia ranted and railed against her, accusing her of deceit and cunning, while Grace looked down at her with patience indifference. The younger woman's words had never bit at her like this before.

Goddess, what had she done?

Olga wiped blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. Dark crimson smeared her skin as she blinked slowly, collecting herself with unnatural ease. The woman standing before Grace was not the Olga Discordia she had known so long ago. This creature… this thing, Goddess, she really was a queen. Composed and cool, even after a physical blow.

It made Grace feel so terribly small and insignificant.

"Did my brother mean so little to you" Olga accused.

"He was my husband" Grace answered, the anger swept away by the chilling realization that their roles had reversed. She was now the angry, haughty child, and Olga the condescending elder. "I wanted him to be happy."

"And I wanted him to live." Olga's shoulders rose as she took a long breath. "I wanted them all to live. That was why I begged them not to go to Mournival. Why I saw my brother time and time again, to convince him to leave the past where it belonged. And every time, you were there to intercept me, to turn my advice aside and argue in favor of war."

"He would never have forgiven himself."

"But he would be alive" Olga had a single drop of blood oozing down her cheek. Grace stared at it, unable to meet the queen's gaze.

"I mourn his death every day" Grace admitted. "He died rescuing me. I had been captured by the Legion. He attacked the camp and freed me, but in our escape he… did not make it out." She sniffed back her tears, and felt the anger rising again. It was duller this time, but potent nonetheless. "And where were you? You could have stopped it all. Had you but taken the power that was offered to you, Olga, you could have stood at the front of the army and swept the Legion out of Garan and back to the pits they came from."

"I did not want that power" Olga replied, a grimness in her voice.

"You were the Goddess" Grace breathed. "The _real_ Goddess."

"Don't!" Olga silenced her with an upraised hand. Genuine anger clouded her expression, cracking her listless mask apart. "Do not say that ever again. Celeste is the Goddess Reborn. Not me."

"It was supposed to be you."

"And I saw what would happen if I chose to take it" Olga stated. "Endless war, blood running in great rivers. The power of the Goddess is almost limitless, and I did not have the heart to control it. It would have consumed me. Not so with Celeste. She is purer of mind than I am, unclouded by bitterness or deceit. She is the true Goddess Reborn."

"You condemned your people when you abandoned your calling."

"If my people needed a bloody goddess to flourish, then perhaps it is better that way." Olga's mask slid smoothly back into place. "I did not come here to talk about the past, Grace. I came here to talk about you. You, and Louk Shannegh."

"What about us" Grace challenged.

"You will not hurt him" Olga declared. "Or you will answer to me."

"Hurt him?" Grace laughed, though a sense of unease filtered into her mind at the seriousness of the queen's tone. "Hurt Louk Shannegh?"

"You know exactly what I mean." Olga clicked her tongue. "The fate of Eostia rests on his shoulders. He does not need you tugging his mind and heart away from his purpose."

"You speak as if I would thwart his plans." Grace growled. "I am not your enemy, Olga. Do I love him? Is that what you are asking me? What would you do if I said yes? What would you do, Olga Discordia, if I told you that he and I are merely lovers of convenience. That he takes me to bed for the simple gratif-"

"You stole my brother from me, you will not do the same with Louk Shannegh" Olga suddenly cried out.

Both women stood silent for a moment, wide-eyed and stunned. Olga blinked rapidly, her mouth parted in horror at the words that had spilled out. And Grace, Grace did not know how to respond. For the decades she had known Olga Discordia, she had never once found the younger dark elf to show the slightest interest in any man. She had only cared about freedom. When her mother and sisters had chided her about finding a husband she had only laughed and declared that her soulmate would find her in time.

And the words she had just uttered were perhaps the most genuine, honest words Grace had ever heard from the woman.

"Olga…" Grace's shoulders sagged. Any moral high ground she might have had vanished, sucked away by a raging river of guilt that crashed over her.

"He is important to me" Olga murmured, carefully schooling her voice. "He saved us in Garan, brought us safely to Ken. And now he is all that stands between us and the greater darkness that comes out of Garan. I need him to be whole, Grace. We need him to be whole. If you are not devoted to him, if you have even a shred of doubt in your heart about your feelings for him, then you need to leave him. This land cannot afford to have him undecided, or plagued by uncertainty."

"I… I know that" Grace lied. It was not entirely a lie. She understood how confused she herself was about the man. It had never occurred to her that Louk Shannegh might have the same weakness.

Olga crossed her arms under her chest and sucked in what might have been a quiver in her voice. It was so faint it was hard to tell. "Do you love him, Grace?"

There was an unmistakable apprehension hiding behind the queen's mask. Grace noted it, and knew that Olga was struggling futilely to hide her emotions. To the uninformed, it would never be seen. But to an elf, much less one so intimately familiar with her, it was as plain as day.

"No" Grace admitted, regretting the words and wishing too late she had remained silent. "I cannot say that I do. I care about him, and I am grateful for his intervention for us in Bold Fortune. He has a charisma about him that is hard to resist."

The Dark Queen said nothing, merely stared in silent observation and judgement. Grace flinched at under her appraising gaze.

"And you," Grace asked, attempting to deflect her scrutinizing inspection. "Do you love him, Olga?"

"Love is a luxury I abandoned a long time ago" Olga replied quietly.

"What does that mean?" Grace cocked an eyebrow. Olga turned to leave, choosing to ignore her question. "Olga?"

Coming to a halt before the door, Olga placed one hand on the frame. Her head turned just slightly, enough that Grace caught her profile through her silken hair.

"Do not speak of this conversation to anyone, Grace."

"Does Celeste know the truth?"

"No. And she never will." Olga's eye regarded Grace with a cold intensity that twisted a knot in Grace's stomach. "That truth would undermine Eostia, and could start a war with our people to the north. The only living beings who know that truth are you and myself."

"I will not speak of it" Grace promised.

"See to it you don't. Because if you hurt Celeste, I will kill you. If you hurt Louk Shannegh, I will make you wish I had."


	23. Princess of Tears

**A/N: Sorry about the delay on this one. January/February's been a rough month. Lots going on, and too many distractions. Hope you guys are having a great 2019 so far!**

 **Reviewers-  
**

 **Unknitclown85** \- Well, until he really steps into the limelight, daemon-Vult is a bit of a dramatist. After all, it is Slaanesh, and nothing Slaanesh is complete without its own brand of vanity and self-indulgence. Unfortunately, there isn't going to be anymore 40k coming in to help save the day. While Legion of the Damned could help, that would take the sport out of the crossover. I can't stand crossovers where the new people have an easy answer.  
 **DarkQueenOriga** \- Are there references to crossbows in Kuroinu lore? I must have missed that. I could see people owning a bow, but unless Eostia was modeled after ancient England it is not at all likely a vast portion of people would have a bow, much less a complicated tool like the crossbow that, while easy to use, is harder to fix and does require some degree of skill to maintain and replace. Swords were also rare as shit in medieval times. Spear and axes were more common because most of the weapon came from wood, which was far less precious a resource than metal. Also, there's no realistic expectation that peasants in Eostia would be willing or able to fight. They're peasants. Maybe they would fight to defend themselves if pressed instead of running away, but a terrified peasant with a spear isn't going to do shit against a trained soldier/demon. Conscript armies have never done well historically unless given sufficiently higher numbers, which Eostia doesn't have. Olga's background was certainly something I considered carefully before getting into the story, because how the hell could she possibly be integrated into Esotia if she really was that bad. As for her and Celeste, there is nothing explicitly sexual about their relationship, past or present. They were incredibly close, but not necessarily in a romantic way.  
 **Guest** \- Olga and Grace are quite the dynamic duo. Think of Olga's response as a protective one. It's not that she expects Grace to do anything intentionally, but sometimes you just have to make sure the other person knows you are a threat.  
 **Vatican Templar** \- Oh, it will get so much steami… I mean, better.  
 **The Storm Master 567** \- People keeping assuming Olga has romantic feelings for people. Can't a sister just love her brother without incest being brought up anymore? I mean, I know it's a hent… oh, right. Think of it more that she and her brother were tight-knit, then Grace put a wedge between them.  
 **Guest 2** \- Olga is definitely winning the waifu-war  
 **EnricksD8** \- Glad you like it. It's taken almost two decades of practice at this point to get where I am. Practice makes permanent!  
 **ManWithAPlan113** \- I mean, that could be all the more reason for a harem, right? Use 'em before you lose 'em?  
 **Disciple of Ember** \- StaffSergeant already had that relationship between Grace and Olga fleshed out really well and I didn't want to step on their work. This one made sense to me, and I'm glad people are liking it. And yes, it is definitely an argument over Olga's brother that is equally valid on both sides. Because neither is the bad guy, really. If things had gone the other way, it would be the same argument. As for Olga and the Goddess comment… oh, it's going to come back. Louk will also get some more time center stage soon. And it will be glorious Reaper work.  
 **SomeGuyOverHere** \- Alicia may be a rash and passionate person, but she isn't 'dumb.' She just had tunnel-vision. You can't forget that Celeste does have a reason why she picked each Shield. Alicia is good at her job. She just wasn't good with Louk.  
 **Danteinfernus** \- I mean… most likely. The Seven Shield Alliance is certainly not in a good spot. Alicia wasn't resigning, she just realized she was not the right person to be in command and ceded leadership to someone she trusted. I would much rather have that happen then have a commander whose tactics are overcome by raw emotion.  
 **The Inquisitor** \- Such a good last line, eh? **  
**

* * *

 **Scarred Tooth Fort, Border of Ur**

The portcullis remained open as they trod underneath. Alicia kept her head up, surveying the state of the interior gateway, checking for structural weakness. Apart from the expected decay of time, the fortress gate appeared as sturdy as the day it had been created. Huge iron teeth peered down at her from their places at the beginning and end of the corridor. While she remained between them, Alicia could not help but picture a massive creature looming overhead, its jaws waiting to snap closed around her.

Magnus' hand remained on his sword, as did hers. The only reason she had not drawn it yet was a subtle and unmistakable curiosity that tickled around the edge of her fear. Vult had remained silent, and his powerful footfalls echoed like funeral drums behind her. Men moved about in the fort's courtyard ahead. She counted dozens of them, some wearing their armor, others stripped down to basic clothing. There was no urgency among them. They felt entirely safe and secure here.

Her unease could not have grown any more. It held her chest in a slimy, lukewarm embrace. Each breath rasped in her lungs with difficulty, but only because she processed each breath wondering if the next might be her last.

"Welcome to Scarred Tooth" a gruff voice boomed as they passed under the interior gate. She resisted the urge to look up at the speaker. "Just as you predicted, my Lord."

 _Lord_.

There was a reverence there she had only heard before given voice to Celeste's praises. Men looked up at their arrival, staring past Magnus and herself to the towering figure of Vult. Excitement and love filled each man's face. It was as unnaturally strong a response as Alicia has ever seen. Sweat beaded on her palms, and she adjusted her grip on the sword.

"That's good enough" Vult purred, slinking past and holding up a hand. Alicia stopped jerkily, her feet slamming down before she had time to process the order. Magnus wavered, his momentum nearly toppling him over as his body responded the same way. "Come down to us, Khoros. And bring our guest."

It took all of her will to resist the urge to turn. Standing in sullen anger, Alicia cast her gaze over the yard, inspecting for any more information she could gather.

There were dozens of men about. Strong, hulking men with the build of miners, sappers. Men accustomed to hard work and throwing hard blows. They had armor too, and shields aplenty. It would be nigh impossible to take this position from them without a significant advantage in numbers. They too had little in the way of ranged weaponry, at least. That was hardly a comfort at the thought of what a bloody slaughter it would take to breach the gate.

Slowly, with agonizing pace, the man called Khoros looped around and into her view. Behind him, walking stiffly and with head bowed, came Prim. Alicia's throat closed up on her at the sight of her little cousin; the light Prim had always carried had vanished, snuffed out like a candle put to rest. Her movements had lost their grace, replaced with a dreadful lifelessness that tore at her heart. She bit her lip to keep from crying out and rushing to her cousin.

"I told Prim you would come for her" Vult stated, that uncomfortable grin playing on his lips. "Well, she told me at first. Funny thing, soon it was I that had to tell her that. She gave up rather quickly. It was almost a shame. Hardly any fun at all."

"What did you do to her, you bastard" Alicia growled. Her anger quelled the fear, pushed it to the side. Prim had been hurt. There was not a thing in the world that could submerge the hatred she felt towards any that hurt her cousin.

"I did not touch her" Vult assured, though with his playful expression it may well have been a lie. "We talked, and I showed her what I intended."

"Intended? What madness is this, Vult? You abandoned Eostia? You turned on the Goddess?"

"She is no goddess" Vult giggled. A flicker of purple danced in his eyes. Alicia blinked once, then it was gone. "No, she is a mortal. Just as you all are mortals. Such delicious things, so full of hope and love."

"What are you talking about" Magnus demanded, finally breaking his silence. His boot shifted forward just slightly, and Alicia realized with surprise that simple motion took more effort than she could replicate.

"You do not know what the true gods are" Vult said. "I have come to teach this world. I have come that the people might know the true power of a god, and feast upon bounties that mortal imagination dare not dream of."

"You are mad" Alicia snarled. Her fingers tightened around her sword and she made to pull it. The strain of shifting her arm held the weapon in its scabbard. Sucking in a long breath, she gaped down at her hand in wonder. The blade resisted as if it weighed a hundred pounds.

"Madness. Truth. Insanity. Those are just words." Vult's eyes glowed again. For the briefest moment, just long enough for her to catch it, that same purple rolled across the courtyard, spilling through the eyes of each and every one of Khoros' men. They all went still as the dead, pausing their tasks in perfect synchronicity. "I bring something much more powerful than words, little child. Small, pure, innocent child."

His hand lifted, and Prim shuffled forward until her head rested under his palm. Alicia's spine went cold as Vult gently pulled her head back, lifting her face until first her pale chin, then her button nose, then finally her dull and lifeless eyes gazed out.

"Prim" Alicia breathed.

"This poor thing couldn't understand. Her fragile spirit broke under the weight of the truth. But don't worry, I will put the pieces back together. She will be made whole. Be made better than whole, in fact. I will take this hollow, pointless existence and craft it into something so beautiful that the true gods will weep with joy."

"I will kill you for this" Alicia whispered. Her voice came from a tiny place, crawling desperately up her constricted throat.

"Ah, my dear. That cannot be. I am not alive to begin with. Or, one could say I am life itself. But you came here for her, did you not? I have finished with her for now. Take her, and enjoy what little time you have left. For I am coming, Alicia Arcturus. I am coming with truth, and illumination, and I will create a world on top of this wretched land that will be sung of in the heavens themselves. Oh, and don't concern yourself with those who rode alongside her. They entertained the men for quite a long time. You should be proud of that. Their sacrifice was but a prelude to the symphony I will conduct. Perhaps I will have you be a vocalist in my opus."

Vult released Prim with the gentlest of nudges, and Prim staggered forwards. Alicia's muscles came loose, and she leapt forward to catch her cousin and sweep her up in a protective embrace. The younger girl barely made a sound, nor did she show any recognition of Alicia's touch. Her body just stood there, lifeless and motionless.

Though Vult had indicated they could go, the crowd of men tightened around them like a noose. Alicia swept her gaze left and right, and knew without a doubt she could not fight her way free. Not with Prim, and possibly not even by herself. Not against so many men.

"Once I draw their attention, run" Magnus whispered beside her.

Alicia barely had time to acknowledge his order when Magnus charged past her, his sword drawing in a ring of steel on steel, a howl of rage bursting free with the strength of a river breaking its dam. The blade arced out with ferocious speed, a speed that Alicia herself marveled at. It cut with the fury of the betrayed, with the hatred of a man confronted by the most horrific of lies.

Seeing Vult for who he was.

The mercenary general sidestepped the blow, his movement so subtle it hardly registered to the human eye. Letting the mercenary carry on past him, Vult flicked two fingers backwards, and Khoros drew his massive axe with an eager and hungry grin.

"Hope you enjoyed your brief stint as a commander, boy" the hulking brute spat. "Louk Shannegh was a fool to pick a little shit like you."

The axe swept out at waist height, and Magnus deflected it high into the air. The courtyard came to life with jeers and shouts, and the mercenaries crowded forward to watch the duel. They crowded past her, bumping her about as they hurried to form a circle. In moment she stood alone, with none between her and the gate. Alicia glanced back, saw the open portal, and hesitated.

"Now, now, you wouldn't run off and let such a wonderful thing such as this pass unrecorded." Vult's strong hand clamped down on her shoulder, his pressure both light and unrelenting at the same time. Alicia tightened her grip on Prim, keeping the younger girl's head buried in her shoulder. She barely felt Prim's heartbeat. It was as soft and fragile as a newborn bird. "Come, let us watch this battle with great attention. The clashing of blades is such a pleasant entertainment. I find it to be positively… thrilling."

The last word made her shiver. His finger crept up her shoulder, settling on her neck. With the lightest pressure he pinched, and Alicia's whole body went numb. Helpless to resist, and unable to move, Alicia gazed forward at the unfolding fight. Thought the man said nothing, the warriors parted to give Alicia a horrifyingly clear view of the duel.

Magnus had speed and skill. His attacks were crisp, and his strikes organized in textbook combinations. Rapid thrusts and guarded slashes were perfect for keeping an axe-wielder at bay. Axes were not good for dueling as it was, and a smaller and faster man like Magnus should have been able to trounce Khoros without much trouble.

But Khoros was fast as well. Unnaturally fast for his size and bulk. The leering brute moved his axe with almost the same speed as Magnus and his smaller sword. Utilizing both the blade of the axe and the haft, he attacked with near reckless abandon, bringing about broad sweeps and powerful attacks that kept Magnus at bay with sheer power alone. Magnus' blade slipped through the sloppy defense time and time again, but never with enough force to cause a fatal wound. Fear of a single blow from that powerful axe held Magnus back; he would not get back up if he was struck. Khoros appeared unbothered by cuts and scrapes. It would take a telling blow to fell him, and that would not happen without the proper timing and luck.

Magnus' attention shifted to her for a moment, and Alicia's stomach turned weightless when his concern and then surprise registered across his face.

"You don't think she could walk away from such a magnificent display of swordsmanship" Vult called out, inciting a chorus of raucous laughter from the assemblage. "How noble of you. Throwing your life away for your woman. You should have just run, boy."

"She's not…" Magnus threw himself into a roll, sprawling under a savage slash from Khoros, and came up behind the mercenary commander. Hurling a wild backhanded cut as he dove again to put distance between them, Magnus scored a light gash across the man's side. Such a wound would have staggered a normal man. Khoros bawled out a hideous laugh and charged after him. "My woman!"

"Of course she isn't" Vult said, lowering his voice so only Alicia could hear. "She is still pure."

Alicia's cheeks flushed at the insinuation, but Vult's grip on her neck held her in place. Her right hand shifted lower on Prim's back, its motion as much a product of desire as it was the numbness of her muscles. One finger brushed against the pommel of her sword.

"You're next" Magnus howled. Khoros' axe struck his sword dead on, and Magnus went tumbling as he desperately held onto the weapon.

"That I would love to see" the general mused. "But I will find no fate here."

Again, she did not understand what he meant. He appeared more mad than sinister, though the strange power at work here could not be denied. Something had gone terribly wrong in Garan, but she was still unsure if it was the result of a spell, or the thing that Louk Shannegh had claimed.

"Prim" she murmured again, clutching her cousin tightly. Every fiber in her being screamed out in defiance and terror at being held so helpless, so vulnerable. If only her feet could move, she would take Prim from here and run on until she reached the rest of the knights. Then they would retreat, create a defensive line, and send for allies from Claudia.

Magnus deflected another blow, this time putting just enough effort in his counter-swing to redirect the axe. Khoros had far too much strength to parry anything coming his way. Step by step, he retreated before the rampaging axe-wielder. His strength was fading, unable to hold out against blow after blow from such a powerful opponent.

A deceptively swift axe thrust slammed into Magnus's guard. Even with the blunt top of the blade, Khoros had enough power to blow the smaller mercenary off his feet and send him tumbling away. The crowd jeered loudly as Magnus rolled to a stop, blood leaking from his mouth.

"After I kill you" Khoros grunted, closing the distance with slow, measured steps, "I'll have a word with that bastard Louk Shannegh. That shit won't be so high and mighty once he faces the power my lord has given me. I haven't even shown you a sliver of my true might, you stupid shit."

Even at the distance, Alicia caught the sudden look Magnus shot her way. It was a desperate glance, a determined glance. She did not realize she had bit her lip until the salty taste of blood trickled down her throat.

 _Run_ he said, voice too low for any to hear. _Run when I make an opening._

Khoros stood over Magnus and lifted his axe in both hands. "Any last words?"

"You said you haven't shown your true power" Magnus coughed, spitting blood with each breath. "Lucky me."

Quick as a flash, Magnus rolled forward, dropping from his kneeling position and ripping his blade up and around his body. Khoros' axe slammed down just a moment later, shattering stone and earth with its impact. Blood sprayed high into the air.

Alicia's heart stopped.

Magnus let his momentum carry him forwards, guiding himself up and onto his feet. He staggered a few paces, his balance unsettled by wounds, and dragged his sword after him with a bloodied arm. Despite the injuries, he forced a jaunty grin, and belted a challenge to the crowd.

"Is that the best you scum have?"

Behind Magnus, Khoros toppled to his knees. Blood gushed in a river from his waist, and the hulking man grabbed futilely at his innards as he crumpled on the cracked stones of the courtyard. His axe remained buried in the earth, rising over his corpse like a broken battle standard.

Vult purred beside Alicia, unimpressed by Magnus' words. His pleasure at the show of bloodshed seeped into her, pulsing from his hand into her skin like an unpleasant massage. Her skin felt hot, itching under her clothes and armor, uncomfortably aware in her mind. Her knuckles pressed against the guard of her sword as stiff fingers wrapped around the grip.

"I like this one" Vult murmured. Then he raised his voice. "Take your time with him, boys. Make it slow."

The rest of Khoros' company stepped closer, unperturbed by the loss of their captain. In fact, they seemed unnaturally at ease with the event. Alicia felt pressure returning to her fingers, and gripped her sword tightly.

"Never thought I'd see the day you let others handle your dirty work" Magnus called out to Vult. The encroaching ring of bodies stopped at his words. "You really aren't Vult, are you?"

"I keep him around" Vult replied, his voice sliding into a fluid, liquid sound that could not have come from a human's throat. "His soulfire is such a succulent delight."

"Well then, I guess I wouldn't feel bad about this either." Magnus reached into his jacket. "Would have been a shame to kill you if you really were Vult."

His hand leapt back out, pointing accusingly at the mercenary general. A short-barreled pistol filled his grip, and it barked with a resounding bang. Vult reacted instantaneously, releasing Alicia and diving away, but even his inhuman reflexes were not faster than the unexpected bullet. The meaty crunch of snapping steel plates and cracking bone ripped through the courtyard like a funeral bell. All at once, Alicia's senses came flooding back to her. She gasped as the invisible weight on her lungs released, a weight she had not realized was holding her in place.

Tearing her sword free of its scabbard, Alicia wheeled Prim around and started running for the gate.

"Courtesy of Diane, you monster" Magnus howled. The crowd of mercenaries roared and descended on him. He vanished under a tide of swinging blades and bodies. Alicia risked a look back as she ran, dragging the unresponsive Pirm by her side. Any sign of him had disappeared save for the rising wisp of smoke from the pistol.

"Oh…" that liquid voice hissed, oozing up from the crumpled body of Vult. "I _really_ like him."

Vult flowed back to his feet with ethereal grace, placing himself between Alicia and the gate. His condescending smirk remained fixed in place, and the seeping wound in his shoulder showed only unmarred flesh under the broken pauldron. Alicia stopped, horrified as he shrugged off the impact of such a powerful shot.

"It's a shame, really. I would so loved to have kept you all." Vult drew his massive sword, sliding the weapon free with a grace that defied its weight. "But he actually hit me. I can't let you just walk away after that."

Alicia held her sword between them, knowing full well that her thin blade would do nothing against Vult's gargantuan sword. But Prim was at her side, and she would be damned before she let Prim fall back into this monster's hands. Her brows knit together as she scowled up at the man.

"Eostia will defeat you, daemon. Just like it defeated all who came before you."

"Ah… _daemon._ Such a quaint term." Vult plunged his sword into the ground and rested a hand on its pommel. "You parrot it like a good little child. It is not good to use words you do not understand. Ignorance is fatal, sweet thing. Come, let me enlighten you."

He took a step forward, sliding his grip on the sword to take it in a ready grip. A single flick of muscle tore the blade free, spraying dirt and stone across her body. Alicia flinched, tugged Prim to the side, and dodged. His sword whistled through the air just behind her, cutting so fiercely it was as if reality itself split in its passing. Her own sword slashed across its wake, hoping to cut his arm off at the hand. His speed put the move in doubt, but she had no better option while holding onto Prim.

Vult's laughter bubbled from his throat, a husky invitation that stole the strength from her limbs. Stumbling to her knees, Alicia nearly caught his second blow across the chin. Instead she rolled with her fall, relinquishing her grip on Prim out of necessity. The massive heap of raw iron flicked past her eyes. Its wake pulled her after it, tugging her into an awkward sprawl on the rough stones.

Swinging her legs underneath her body, Alicia pounced up to a fighting stance and launched a cautious thrust at Vult, seeking to clear space. It was hardly a favorable move, she knew that. His sword held nearly double the length of hers. But she needed a breather to process what, or even how, to combat the larger man. Never in her life had Alicia held confidence in her ability to best Vult in a duel. Not even Claudia could claim that honor with any certainty. What possible chance could she have?

It did not matter. Prim lay silently on her back, gazing dully at the clouded sky, and that was all that mattered. She still breathed, and while Prim breathed, Alicia would fight.

Alicia would not lose her cousin again.

A cluster of the mercenaries had detached from the throng and advanced on her. She could still hear the sound of fighting behind her, but did not dare look back. Magnus was still alive? How? It was no small miracle, but she could not dwell on it. Eyeing the other men, Alicia shifted her stance to keep her eyes on them all. In moments she would be surrounded.

"Back" Vult ordered, his silvery voice sending the mercenaries scurrying away. Tossing his blade back onto his shoulder once more, he extended his free hand and gestured for Alicia to come at him. "It is such a shame…"

Alicia felt the fury return, the anger and rage surging back from its prison he had locked it inside. A howl tore from her throat as she leapt forwards, throwing her entire weight into a single deadly thrust aimed at his chest. Her eyes tracked his sword, remaining motionless on his shoulder. His smile goaded her on, showing the least of cares at her charge.

Unbelievably, Vult made no move to step aside. He neither parried her blow nor dodged, either of which she had expected. The mercenary general received her thrust with a grunt, his chest rocking ever so slightly as her sword punched through his chest plate and buried itself in his body. Driven by the momentum of her charge, it plunged through meat and out the back, ramming up to the crossguard through his body.

Alicia blinked, disbelief clouding her mind. A thick, meaty hand came up and clasped her hands in an iron grip. Vult looked down at her, a condescending grin on his face.

"Through the heart. Simple, and effective. Against a mortal."

Horror bloomed, spilling against her rage as she tugged at the sword. His grasp was strong as steel bonds, and she struggled helplessly in his grip. Easing his sword up, Vult brought it down to rest delicately on her shoulder, its blade kissing the side of her throat. At its touch, Alicia went still. Her whole body lurched sickeningly as he began to slowly pull her sword free, pushing her entire body as he backed her up to free the blade.

"You really should have listened to Louk Shannegh, sweet thing. I will enjoy devouring you."

His sword lifted, raised high in the air for a killing blow. Alicia stared up at it, not comprehending. She had put her blade through his heart. Why wasn't he dead? What was he? His eyes blazed with that purple fae-light. Behind the light, she saw a flickering shadow, a creature dancing in the darkness. It looked back at her, and grinned.

The sword started to descend.

She felt a rush of warmth between her legs.

An arrow punched into Vult's skull with the meaty crack of breaking bone and yielding flesh. Vult stumbled, his grip sagging as his body careened to the side. Her blade tore free, and she staggered to her knees as she regained control of her body.

Horses thundered into the courtyard. Holy Iris knights bellowed war cries as their charge carried them into the ranks of the startled mercenaries. Behind them rode Mkihail's riders, followed by Magnus' mercenaries on horse and foot. Within moments the courtyard was filled with the cacophony of battle as a hundreds of fighters threw themselves into battle with selfless fury.

"Alicia!"

Mikhail slid from his horse, running the last few steps as he joined her. "When you did not return, I assumed the worst."

"Your timing is…" Alicia gasped for breath. "Impeccable. Have a rider take Prim and get her out of here."

"Prim's here?" Mikhail looked around wildly. "Where?"

"She is right…"

The pink-haired princess had disappeared. Alicia cast about frantically, straining to make out her cousin's form. A hint of pink wandered through the fight, moving aimlessly through the melee as combatants swirled around her.

"There! Mikhail, she's lost her mind. We need to get her out of here."

He nodded, and took off without a word, diving into the melee in pursuit. Alicia stared after him for a moment, then staggered to her feet and clutched her sword in both hands. It felt unnaturally heavy in her grasp, and she took a calming breath to collect herself. All around her, soldiers fought and died. A pair of Holy Iris knights detached from the brawl and rushed to her side, dropping from their saddles as they greeted her.

Thalia was one of the two. Her knight lieutenant bobbed her head in deference and offered her horse's bridle.

"You should mount, Lady Alicia."

"No, I will fight on foot." As if to prove her point, Alicia turned to intercept a stumbling mercenary that lunged for Thalia's back. Slipping past her friend, Alicia skewered the man in the throat. She slung his body to the ground and grimaced. "Thalia, I need you to"

" _UNGRATEFUL BITCH!_ "

Vult's corpse leapt to its feet, and the ground shook as he slammed a boot into the ground. Horses shied away, men staggered, and Alicia nearly fell off her feet as the man-thing let out a terrible howl that rattled her bones. Tossing his head towards the melee, he snarled, and stalked forwards.

Alicia stared in utter horror as a knight rushed him, leaning low to smash her sword into his side. Vult spun opposite her approach, bringing his massive blade in a wide arc that bisected her horse from chest to ass, cleaving the knights legs from her body. The knight wailed in agony as she went flying off her her bisected mount, slamming into the ground in a tumble. Another knight came at Vult from the other side, this time too close to charge. She hacked down at him with her blade, and he parried with the pommel of his sword. Grabbing her by the chest plate, Vult ripped her from her horse and threw his knee up to intercept her body. The knight's torso came apart with a horrific crunching gash.

"What… monster" Thalia breathed, stunned by the display.

Magnus' mercenaries charged from multiple sides, aiming to attack him from too many angles to defend. Vult paid them little heed, sweeping them away with his sword as he stomped into the melee, focused on an unseen target. One bravely leapt in front of him and stabbed a spear into the same wound Alicia had caused earlier. Vult rewarded the man's heroism by grabbing his skull and crushing it like a ripe eggshell.

"Vult's been possessed" Alicia answered. She grabbed Thalia by the shoulders. "Thalia, mount your horse. Ride to Claudia, tell her what is happening. We need reinforcements."

"I cannot leave your side" Thalia protested.

"Go!"

Looking back into the melee, Alicia caught sight of her cousin. Prim was ascending the stairs to the gatehouse, her face bearing the horribly vacant expression as if sleepwalking. Mikhail struggled near the base of the steps, attempting to force his way through the battle. A retinue of his men fought with him, but a whole phalanx of Khoros' mercenaries barred their path.

"Alicia, I beg you don't make me abandon you!"

"Go now!" Alicia pushed her towards her horse. "We will buy Claudia all the time we can. But find her, and find Louk Shannegh. Gods curse that man, but we need him to stop whatever this monster is that Vult has become."

"You will die if you remain here."

"I am a Shield of Eostia" Alicia growled. "My life will not be so cheaply taken."

"I…" Thalia lunged forwards suddenly, catching Alicia by surprise. Her knight lieutenant pressed her lips against Alicia's for a frantic moment, then pulled back. Blinking back her surprise, Alicia gaped at the woman. "I will come back for you, Alicia."

Thalia threw herself up on her mount and dug in her spurs. The other knight followed, and Alicia watched them go for a moment too long. She touched her lips, lips that tingled with confusion over the woman's parting gesture.

"Alicia!"

A familiar cry tore her attention back to the fight. Magnus stumbled against a riderless horse, covered in cuts and bruises. He looked horrible, but managed to remain on his feet despite a dozen wounds.

"Magnus!" Alicia wrapped an arm around his shoulder an eased him to the ground. He sat fitfully, coughing up flecks of blood as he clutched her for support. "Sit, you stood your ground. Now it is my turn to fight for you."

"I think I can do that" he agreed softly, a bloody smile creasing his face. "Save your cousin. Once we have her, we can leave."

She nodded, and took his sword in her off hand. Two-weapon fighting was an art she had not mastered, but considered herself proficient enough with. It took rare skill to use two blades with any measure of competency. Alicia could manage well enough to best all but trained warriors. At the worst, having a second blade to parry could save her life in this frantic battlefield.

The portcullis groaned behind her, and she cried out as the near gate began to descend. Staring up at the gatehouse in horror, Alicia spotted Prim's empty expression gazing out over the battlefield.

"What have you done" Alicia cried, her voice unheard over the battle. "Prim!"

"Get the gatehouse" Magnus coughed.

Not bothering to reply, Alicia threw herself into the fray. Charging for the stairs, now bitterly embattled by Mikhail's men and the mercenaries, Alicia hacked at anything that stood in her path. She did not bother utilizing her knightly training for this. This was murder work, not dueling. Swift, economical motions brought foes low in front of her. Deadly thrusts to unsuspecting or distracted necks. Furious hacking blows to overextended arms. One larger brute blocked her path, wielding a reinforced mattock with both hands. He swung an overhead blow at her, but Alicia merely leapt back out of his reach. When his mattock bit into the earth she charged past him, crossing her blades over his throat and opening his neck to the spine. Hot blood splashed over her, but she continued on without waiting to see if his body fell.

"Holy Iris Knights" she bellowed, grunting as a chopping maul slammed Magnus' sword to the side. Before her attacker could follow through with his strike, she gutted him with her own sword. A savage twist of her blade spilled his innards over his knees, and he crumpled with a howl of pain. "To the gatehouse! Open the gate! Mercenaries, to the gate! Form a defensive line!"

She could not tell if her orders reached anyone. The only thing she was aware of was the flow of bodies in front of her. She cut, and she killed, always advancing. Somewhere to her right she heard guttural howls and screeches of agony as humans died in droves. Vult was in there, hacking apart anything that he reached. Gods, she could not think of anything that could stop him, save perhaps the power of the Goddess herself.

When she reached the base of the stairs, Mikhail had finally achieved the first two steps. More than eight mercenaries remained above them, lashing out with halberds and spears. His knights tried to push forwards, using their shields to batter aside their weapons, but the approach was too narrow, and four of his men's bodies attested to the futility of the approach.

"Damn spears" Mikhail cursed. He had a bloody run spilling from his left shoulder, and his shield arm hung loose at his side.

Alicia took the situation in a glance, and cast about for another option. Sheathing her sword and stabbing Magnus' into the ground, she picked up a fallen spear and glared up at the men on the stairs. They eyed her wildly, baring teeth and blazing violent eyes.

She hurled the spear into their midst. It caught one in the chest, and he staggered back through the tight knot of men. Several were unbalanced by the push, and two toppled off the stairs with cries of shock. Mikhail's men finished them off with relish, and Mikhail himself led a charge up while the others recovered. His sword flashed masterfully as he picked the front rank apart, stabbing through their recovering defenses and hurling them to the ground below.

Following hot on his heels, Alicia surveyed the battlefield as they ascended past the silent corpses of Khoros' men. Their combined force had been outnumbered, but with the speed of their assault they had nearly leveled the field in their favor. Khoros' men had not been prepared, and still feel in droves, their losses shored by knots of equipped men holding their own against the armored knights of Feoh and Ur.

The only thing holding her forces back was the rampaging form of the creature that possessed Vult's body. It was easy enough to spot, a whirlwind of blood and gore wading through the battlefield. Vult did not kill his opponents. They came apart in his path, bodies severed cleanly by his sword or crushed in his hands. From above the fray, Alicia spotted his target. The target he had been chasing throughout the battle.

A lone Holy Iris scout was frantically scrambling away from him, a shortbow clutched in her hands. The archer that had struck him. Alicia could read the terror on the girl's face as Vult closed in on her, slamming his body into an Ur knight that crossed his path in vain attempt to stop him. The horse's body tore in half from the force of his impact, and the knight's left side vanished in a cloud of blood. Emerging from the spray with a ululating cry, Vult stood over the archer and slid his sword casually into its sheath.

The girl's face was wet with tears as she held a trembling arrow trained on the man's heart. Alicia did not hear the release of the string, or the twang as the arrow leapt up and thudded into Vult's throat. But she did see the young girl weep with abject fear as Vult reached down and grabbed her by the shoulder. Lifting her into the air, Vult pulled her close, speaking into her ear. The girl screamed. Then Vult grabbed her other shoulder and tore her in half, ripping her body into pieces like a child tearing a stuffed toy.

Nausea filled Alicia's gut, and she nearly doubled over as Vult held both halves of the girl in the air, showering in the rain of blood and viscera spilling from her mutilated corpse.

"Gods" Mikhail gasped. He had reached the top, and helped her up with his sword hand. Alicia bit back her tears and hurried into the gatehouse.

She found her cousin standing in the window, gazing out over the field of dead and dying. An inexplicable sense of dread washed through Alicia as she approached her cousin. Her skin crawled as she drew near, and a maddening itch rose in her teeth as she stepped closer.

"Prim, we need to get out of here" Alicia said, her voice, as calm as she could manage. "Prim, can you hear me?"

"He came for me" Prim whispered, her voice ghostlike in its softness.

"He what?"

"I saw him in my dreams. But I thought it was someone else."

"That's fine, Prim." Alicia grabbed Prim by the arms and turned her back towards the exit. Mikahil's men clambered over the portcullis wheel, throwing themselves into the work of raising the gate. "Tell me about it later. Right now isn't a good time."

"I need to wait for him" Prim said, and her head snapped around to fix Alicia with startlingly clear eyes. The slackjawed expression melted away, replaced by a searing intensity that set Alicia back a step. "He is coming here for me."

"You said he already came" Alicia insisted, pulling her along.

"The other one" Prim said. She refused to move. Her feet did not budge. Ordinarily, Alicia could have dragged Prim along without trouble. But her smaller cousin resisted with the strength of a boulder, and Alicia could not dislodge her.

"Prim, we need to leave! I have to get you to safety."

" _Safety_ " a silken voice hissed. Alicia cursed and drew her sword, even as the blood drained from her veins.

Vult stepped into the gatehouse, stooping to pass through the threshold. Mikhail's men froze at his approach, eyeing the newcomer with visible fear.

"Keep working" Mikahil ordered. The eldest son of the Pantielle family stepped between Alicia and Vult, his sword pointed threateningly at the mercenary general. "Back, fiend. I don't know what you are, but you won't-"

Vult's eyes fixed Mikhail's and the swordsman's body went still. He remained upright for a moment, just long enough for Alicia to realize something was wrong. Then his body crumpled bonelessly to the ground. Blood and fluids leaked from every pore on his skin. Alicia could not hold back the horrified gasp, and pressed Prim backwards as she retreated from the damned creature.

"Him I did not like" Vult growled. Despite all the blood and gore that he had shed, his armor and skin remained as pristine as if having come fresh from the shower. Alicia could not see where her blade pierced his armor. It was as if the armor had sewn itself back together. That was impossible.

Everything he did was impossible.

Mikahil's knights abandoned the wheel and charged, their cries a mix of ferocity and terror. One by one, Vult killed them in turn. He did not use his sword. Bare hands caught knights and crushed them in his grasp, or hurled them screaming through the windows into the courtyard below. It was over in seconds, and then it was just Alicia facing the daemon in human skin.

Tears flowed down her cheeks as she retreated. Shame and terror warred in her mind, drowned by the overpowering presence of Vult's strength. There was no mistaking it. Only the Goddess herself could stop this creature. Alicia was going to die here.

"This seems familiar" Vult hissed, gazing about the room with that disinterested smile, ignoring her. "I smell your blood here already. You ancestor fell here, fighting to open the gate."

The gate. Alicia whirled suddenly, slicing through the ropes that connected the portcullis to the wheel. With a snap, the rope came apart, and the portcullis slammed back into the earth.

"Have fun picking that up" Alicia growled, forcing composure into her voice. "We cannot stop you, but I can hold you in here."

"It is a simple matter to remove the portcullis" Vult countered, though his eyes flashed in irritation at her decision.

"It will slow you down, then. Give our people longer to prepare for you."

"Good. I so enjoy the struggle."

His hand raised as if gesturing to an unseen watcher. Alicia's eyes followed the motion reflexively. Out in the courtyard, shapes moved on the northern wall. She squinted to make out their forms. Bodies clambering over the lip and onto the ramparts. Human bodies first, men clad in black armor. Black Dogs mercenaries. Behind the first wave though, arriving like tar poured over thatch, came the demons.

Orcs and imps flooded onto the northern wall as the Black Dogs humans spread before them, securing ladders and ropes for more to arrive. Her mouth opened in a silent cry of horror as they rushed down the stairs and joined the battle in the courtyard. Her knights reacted almost instantly, wheeling when possible to face the new threat, but they had no room to maneuver. With a solid shield wall, they could hold, but the battle had them too spread out to form any form of defense. Unable to properly counter the incoming tide of demons, they were overwhelmed. Battle cries turned into shouts of fear, cries of terror. Panic spread through the knights and mercenaries she had led to the fort. They were all swept away as more and more demons poured over the wall.

"And this will be quite a struggle" Vult cooed. Alicia turned back, and an icy fist clutched at her heart. Prim had stepped away, advancing to join Vult at the entrance. His gloved fingers curled under her chin, caressing the princess like a pet as he ravished her petite frame with his eyes. "Such a beautiful creature. I think I will keep her after all. Selfish, but my desire for this morsel grows with each passing moment."

"You will fail" Alicia hissed, feeling no strength or conviction behind the words. In the courtyard below, the screams of the dead and dying gave way to bellowing shouts from demonic throats. Magnus' voice rose once, a defiant roar accompanied by the crack of his handgun. Then the courtyard fell blessedly silent, all noise vanishing like death itself had descended and scoured the place of all life. Her vision blurred with hot tears. "Bastard!"

"He should have kept you close" Vult murmured, his attention still riveted on Prim's uplifted face. "Oh, that is the Reaper for you. Such a single-minded and simple beast."

"Don't ignore me" Alicia shrieked, bringing her sword back up in a threatening stance. She could hardly see through her tears, and her whole body burned as if having fought a day-long battle. Each breath took more effort than she could bear, smothered by the creeping presence of the monster that Vult had become.

"Such a needful child" Vult chided. His hand slipped from Prim's chin, drifting down to the small of her back. The princess' body shivered in his grasp, though her expression continued to show no life or reaction. "You will have your turn."

Her grip tightened on her sword until her knuckles whitened.

"What can you do, sweet thing?" Vult spread his other arm out wide, mocking her by opening himself to her attack. "You know you cannot defeat me. It will be so much easier if you surrender. Throw down your sword, child, and embrace me as I embraced the one you called Vult. I am a forgiving master, and will show you the tenderest mercy."

"Fuck your mercy."

She charged, an inhuman scream tearing from her lungs. The creature eyed her with an amused smirk, knowing full well that she could not hurt him. Her blade led on regardless, aimed for his exposed throat. Alicia's scream rang through the fortress, so clear and violent that even Prim turned to regard her with those vacant eyes.

 _You will not have her,_ Alicia promised.

Her sword pierced Prim's yielding chest. Alicia carried her charge forward, driving her sword into her younger cousin to the hilt, slamming her body into the gatehouse wall. A horrific noise spilled from Vult's mouth as he realized too late what she had intended. Alicia ran her cousin through the heart, killing her in a single deadly thrust.

"I'm sorry" Alicia whispered, burying her face against Prim's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Prim. My precious Prim."

A heavy, clawed gauntlet wrenched her back and away, hurling her across the gatehouse. Alicia crashed through wooden beams, snapping bones and tearing muscles as she skidded to a halt. Her head lolled limply, gazing up at the ceiling with unfocused eyes. Unable to see anything but dull brown through her blurred gaze. Blood filled her mouth. Agony wracked her body from a dozen breaks and tears.

A shadow fell over her. She choked on the blood trickling down her throat.

"That… was a mistake" Vult snarled. His voice resonated discordantly in the air, as if multiple voices spoke the same line. "I _wanted_ her."

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Her breath wheezed and bubbled, but no sounds formed. One of her eyes cleared, and the face that was once Vult's leered above her. His skin writhed, bones shifting angrily under his flesh. Something horrific clawed for freedom from his body, straining for release.

"Oh… I would have given you such sweet things. You could have been a ruler, a goddess over the vermin of this land." Too many tongues slicked across his jagged teeth as he sneered over her dying body. "But you have elected the way of pain. Your death will not come swiftly, wretched child."

Blackness crept into her awareness, shadows encroaching on her vision. Alicia's head slumped to the side, unable to hold itself steady. Her last thought was of Prim's dying face, and how for a fraction of a heartbeat, she thought she saw life return to her cousin's gaze.

 _I am coming to join you_ , her mind whispered.

"No" Vult snarled. "You are not."


	24. Princess of Delight

**A/N: March was a bit of an odd month. I got most of this chapter done within days of posting the last, then had about a three week hiatus on writing. Glad to be back, and glad to see that this story is still garnering interest. Hope you all are ready for some more grimdark.**

 **Apologies if the second half has awful grammar. Finished it up in the car and Google Docs doesn't do spell check without internet access.**

 **Reviewers-**

 **Dragonheart51 -** Oh, this is only his 2% power. Shaggy, thy name is Slaanesh.  
 **FrancisVampire0822 -** His greatest weakness, he can't be everywhere at once.  
 **Abdiel Amaro -** I see your point, but if that is entirely the case Prim was doomed anyways. It is entirely possible she might have reached some level of fanciness, but let's be honest. Louk would kill her way before something like that could happen. And Shalltear vs a daemon would be an interesting match. Or Louk vs Shalltear (Foreshadowing? Who knows?)  
 **Ronmr -** It is only going to get stronger.  
 **Guest -** Frustration, certainly. Table flipping is only for dramatic timing. He'll have to find a really good table for that.  
 **Danteinfernus -** I mean, they were fine when their biggest threat was orcs. But yes, no Shield is equipped to fight a daemon. They're all just meat.  
 **DarkQueenOriga -** Long reviews are awesome. I am always open for discussion material, and while it may not affect this story, you have dropped some solid ideas for a different take on the setting. Mine doesn't happen to be planned out that way, but I would love to see someone write a story with your style of world in it.  
 **Guest 2 -** Yup  
 **Nuke King -** Was it really that stupid though? To the best of Alicia's knowledge, she is saving her cousin from torment. I mean, yes, there is the whole post-life nonsense of the Warp, but it isn't as if she knows about that. To her, it would objectively be the smartest, most compassionate move.  
 **StaffSergeant** **-** THEY WERE NOT PREPARED  
 **Sperance -** Magnus was fun while he lasted. As for Alicia, well, it's really a coin flip as to which is worse, isn't it?  
 **IcErza -** insert evil laughter. Hold back tears for fallen characters. Compare body count to Game of Thrones.  
 **SomeGuyOverHere -** Glad the battle turned out well. I had a hard time figuring out how to transcribe it from my head to the paper and make it coherent/good. Plenty of awesome moments in it, certainly. Writing the daemon-Vult was also a lot of fun. Trying to make his character, or the daemon's character both unique, evil, and not melodramatic is a worthy challenge. And, Louk was the "Other One." Remember her dream from way back when?  
 **Disciple of Ember -** The knights of Eostia, wherever they come from, are still pretty ballsy warriors. RIP scout archer. As for Prim, neither option is a good one, certainly. She fairly screwed whichever way it goes. Alicia's decision at the end there is most definitely taken through the lens of not knowing a damn thing about the Warp, which is easy to overlook. Crossovers can sometimes gloss over the knowledge barrier, but I am a firm believer in making people suffer for ignorance when grimdark is concerned. Also, Magnus is most certainly dead.  
 **ManwithaPlan113 -** Would have been Louk, had he been at the right place. Prim's dream back in chapter 2 or so was a bit of a foreshadowing, only Louk didn't get there in time.  
 **Ekurman -** Glad you like it!

 **The Inquisitor -** Heh, I guess you won't be sad about what happens to everyone else then.

 **V -** What? Make a rational decision in a grimdark setting?

* * *

 **Castle Levantine, Geofu**

Chloe stood on the battlements over the castle gate, gazing out over the sprawling army camp surrounding the castle. The young half-elf had been there since supper, preferring the solitude of the night to strategy meetings and walkthroughs of the levy training fields. In her own curt admission, she was not schooled in the art of war. Her mistress had handled the knowledge, the understanding, the direction. Chloe had proudly boasted that Olga was a keen strategist, an excellent tactician and a master of warfare. She had to be. It took effort and intelligence to so cleverly position the Demon Legions into catastrophic defeats time and time again.

Her revulsion at being surrounded by so many humans, so closely pressed by the castle servants and curious onlookers, had driven her to seek the shelter of the battlements. So here she stood, her petite frame shivering in the cold wind blowing down from the mountains, hair fluttering like spirits at play behind her. One hand on her dainty hip, the other clutching the grip of her knife as she studied the landscape.

In all her years, she had never seen the outside of the mountains. Her only memories of those cursed peaks came from inside Garan, on the occasional excursion she and Olga had taken to slaughter the rare bands of demons that resisted her queen's control. Those trips had been precious to her, time along with Olga, time spent watching her mistress speak, clinging to her words like precious water in the parched land. Sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, Olga even laughed. Not the dark chuckle of derision she reserved for others, but a pure and happy laugh, a kind of laughter that Chloe knew had once been a free-flowing river from Olga's soul.

She would bring that laughter back, Chloe promised. It may take her decades, centuries even, but Chloe had promised herself that she would make Olga happy again. Her queen, her savior, the woman that had brought her out of misery and delivered her to a life where she held power again. Chloe owed her everything. Each musical note of laughter Chloe drew out of Olga was a salve to her soul. Each cherished memory of her relaxed smiles warmed her heart.

"I will protect you" Chloe breathed, repeating the oath she had sworn at Olga's feet after her rescue from Ken. "There is no burden I will not bear for you."

Her words carried softly over the rampart, taken away by the wind, and for a brief moment Chloe wondered what Olga was doing this time of night. Likely reading on the balcony, as she had taken to doing. Her mistress had taught her how to read, though Chloe had yet to find a valuable juncture of such knowledge. There was little she encountered that required such skills, finely-tuned skills, that is. Signs, addresses, names, those were easy enough and any man or woman with half a brain could understand that. Olga had taught her to read books, to study. It was perhaps the only thing Chloe had not taken to with interest, and it still shamed her that she could not bring herself to find the same enjoyment that her mistress did.

The measured steps of approaching boots reached her ears from a distance. Chloe recognized the pacing, the sound, even the strange material. It was no castle guard on his patrol route that approached her, though every so often one had passed by. Their boots were leather and metal, crunching and scuffing on the stonework. So different from the boots of the man stalking along the battlement. She knew that if he had desired it, she would not have heard him. He had unnatural abilities, ones that defeated even elven senses.

"You left your cloak in your room" the man informed her, speaking from a respectful distance away. Again, making a point of not sneaking up on her. Others might have dismissed the signs, but Chloe had recognized him for what he was from the moment she laid eyes on him. The man was a hunter, and so thoroughly drowned in his identity that he took extra precautions to not let it swallow his waking moments.

"I have suffered through far worse than a chill wind" Chloe replied. She inclined her head, turning just slightly to regard him with a critical eye. Enveloped in his heavy coat, a gesture she was sure he had no true need for save appearances, he looked a hulking, dark figure of wrath. A shade of death, blending into the night even among the well-lit battlements. She did not understand how the darkness clung to him. Nor did she appreciate the closeness he had with her mistress. Olga cared for him; Chloe felt no jealousy or anger over that. But this man disregarded her mistress's attentions, casting them off, and that riled Chloe.

Her mood soured, and she resigned herself to having no peace until she set her head down to sleep.

"I'm just constantly amazed by how little the women of this world pay attention to the cold" Louk Shannegh grunted, coming alongside her but maintaining a healthy distance apart. He produced a smoking pipe from his coat and held it up to inspect, scrutinizing it the same way Chloe inspected blades. A quiet sigh of despair left his lips, and he tapped the pipe against the parapet. A faint cloud of debris spilled from the bowl. Replacing it with a thumb of black leaves, he glanced up at her and shook his head. "Pipeweed. It just doesn't do it for me. Tried it as a replacement to lho, but I have to say this is an area your world does not excel in."

She had no idea what he was talking about. Raising one eyebrow in haughty disdain, she made a point of not replying. Her jaw clenched as he struck a spark and lit the pipe.

"You don't approve?"

"I would not have expected a man of your training to poison yourself" she stated.

"This?" He shrugged. "I've suffered through far worse that a bad smoke."

Parroting her own words back to her. She bristled at his innocent expression, deciding whether or not he had intended offense. Likely not. The man had yet to say or do anything with the intention of causing offense. He merely said what was on his mind. Whether or not it offended was not something he cared to consider.

"You don't smoke" he mused. "And I haven't seen you drink either."

"My body is a temple" Chloe told him. "I must keep it clean so I may best protect my queen."

"Admirable. You know, I used to have much worse habits than this."

Again, she did not respond to his comment, though he had left it open as if to bait her into engaging. Choosing to ignore him for the moment, Chloe let her gaze wander over the campfires. There were thousands of new soldiers here, peasants not too long ago. Training to fight the demon legions. Most of them would die. The demons were strong, far stronger than Eostia realized. Now that Olga was not holding them back, the threat they posed would only grow worse.

"Do you know why Olga asked for you to come with me?"

She did not. Chloe could not understand why Olga had sent here away, even after Olga's patient explanation. Her fingers tightened on her dagger. Did Olga know how much it pained her to be away? How Olga's request had stabbed into her heart? A pinching sensation built behind her eyes, and she blinked away the chance of tears lest Louk Shannegh see them.

"It is not my place to question Lady Olga's wishes."

"You're not a slave, Chloe."

"Of course I am not a slave." She scoffed at the ridiculous notion.

"Yet you devote yourself to Olga's wishes with the same devotion of a slave to her master."

A snarl built in her throat. Chloe turned to glare at him, but Louk was leaning over the parapet, sucking on the pipe's lip.

" _I am not a slave_ " Chloe hissed. "My devotion to Lady Olga is born of loyalty. A trait you don't seem familiar with."

"I am all too familiar with loyalty" Louk Shannegh muttered. His face grew grim for a moment, and he exhaled a perfectly rounded circle of smoke from his mouth. "Far too familiar with the cost of it, too. Olga is worried about you, Chloe. She thinks you are ill."

"I am not." She huffed at the thought. "Elves do not get sick the same way you humans do."

"She did not mean a physical illness." Louk shifted onto one elbow, eyeing her expectantly. The intensity in his eyes was something he did not dial back. She doubted he could. It made her skin crawl, filled her with the uncomfortable sensation he always knew the answer to the questions he asked. And the ones he did not ask.

"It is nothing" she lied.

His disapproval showed. For reasons she did not understand, his disapproval ate at her. It gnawed on her as if she had failed Olga herself.

"Olga would not make you leave her side if it was nothing, Chloe."

" _Lady_ Olga does as she wishes" Chloe snapped.

He tipped his head in acknowledgement. " _Lady Olga_ is worried that something is affecting you, is hurting you. You two care for each other; your bond is strong and runs deep. Do you think she wanted you gone from her side?"

"It is not my place to understand her wishes."

"So you want her to suffer?" His scowl struck her like a blow. It was not a jealous expression, nor was it one born by a man speaking of a loved one. But it was angry, and it scared her. She took an unconscious step backwards.

"I… I cannot let her suffer my burdens."

"Then let _me_ suffer them. Because by not telling her what is going on, you are making her suffer. She worries about you, and needs to hear that you are safe."

"And if you simply told her I was?"

He took another long drag from the pipe. "You would lie to her?"

"No."

"Then you'd best open your mouth."

She stared at him in wonder, debating how much to tell him, if anything. Olga trusted him. It made sense that her mistress had tasked Louk Shannegh with finding out this answer, and even helping her. Chloe did not have the heart to tell Olga. She did not have the heart to tell anyone her shame.

"It is… I was a slave once" she said, breathing deeply.

"I heard. House of Mandeville."

"He is still alive."

"The merchant in Ken" Louk Shannegh muttered. Chloe bit her lip, took a calming breath, and nodded again.

"He found me, the day of the assemblage."

The man remained blessedly silent. She was not certain she could handle questions. How could she answer him? Tell him that she went into his home to kill him, to slit his throat while he was sleeping. And that when the time came, she had failed. His presence had overwhelmed her, her memories had paralyzed her. When he woke, she had wished with her whole heart to have the strength to plunge her knife into his chest.

Then he had taken her, pulled her to the bed. And he…

Louk Shannegh wrapped an arm around her. She flinched, instinctively pulling away, but Louk Shannegh held her tightly. His hold offered comfort and support. A handkerchief appeared in front of her eyes, and she gratefully accepted it. Her cheeks burned, but she refused to let tears come.

"Did he hurt you?"

She wanted to deny it. "He did."

His fingers pressed gently into her shoulder. "He still holds power over you" he muttered. His voice became surprisingly gentle. "Terrors from your childhood are hard to overcome."

"Well, I am not a child" Chloe growled. She eased free of his grasp. "And he is just a man. I have killed far viler creatures than him."

"Matter of perspective" he countered. "Psychological trauma trumps reason."

She shot him a bitter glare. Slipping free of his hand, Chloe let her hands fall to her knives. "And death defeats psychological trauma."

"You plan on killing him."

"It is the only way to be free of him."

"Fair enough." Louk Shannegh tapped the ash from his pipe bowl. "When we get back to Ken, I'll go with you."

"I don't need your help" Chloe lied.

"Maybe you don't" he agreed. "Or maybe you do. I've been there before, Chloe. Staring down the man who tormented you, who tortured you and humiliated you. Revenge is a powerful motivator. But it has a strange relationship with fear. I can help with that."

"I don't need your help" Chloe insisted.

"If you didn't need my help, he would already be dead" Louk Shannegh stated. "You have had time and opportunity, what with being stuck in Ken."

"It wasn't…" she shut her mouth and turned away from him, refusing to meet his gaze. If she did, her lies would unravel. Her anger would unravel. His eyes would strip her defenses and find that raw and weeping girl that stumbled out of John Mandeville's house, her thighs and breasts slick with the man's fluids.

"Rider" Louk Shannegh said suddenly, his tone shifting to a professional interest. Chloe gazed out, grateful for the interruption. She spotted the rider in moments. It was a knight, armored in the livery of the Holy Iris Chivalric Order. She rode as if the devil herself nipped at her heels.

Chloe forced down her tortured memories as Louk Shannegh hurried off to the gatehouse. His powerful commanding voice bellowed out for the gate to be opened, and for Claudia Levantine to be summoned. There was an edge in his voice that filled her with tension, with the apprehension of battle. She wet her lips, and imagined what it would feel like to put her blades through John Mandeville's heart.

"Soon" she promised. Then she hurried off after her mistress's champion.

 **-v-**

"The Scarred Tooth Fort" Claudia repeated. She stood in late night conference, surrounded by the hastily assembled war council. Her father, Grave, stood by her side. Louk Shannegh, the half-elf Chloe, Maia, and a half-dozen other commanders and mercenaries stood clustered about the other side of the table. Most had shown tired, complaining expressions on arrival, eyes bleary with the first hours of sleep so rudely interrupted.

At the end of it, face pale and trembling with exhaustion, stood Thalia. Claudia knew her well. Alicia's right hand, the second-in-command of the Holy Iris Chivalric Order. Her loyalty and skill were unquestionable. The agony behind the woman's eyes spoke of the crippling self-loathing she felt at being here, in Castle Levantine, rather than at her commander's side.

"That's impossible" one of the commanders snapped. "That pass is, well, impassable. The Goddess herself destroyed it."

"Paths can be excavated, especially by sappers" Louk Shannegh growled, silencing the man. "And that does not change the fact that Khoros's men turned, and that Vult is there."

"That _creature_ was not Vult" Thalia interrupted. All eyes turned to her. "It… one of our archers put an arrow in his skull. He got back up as if it had done nothing. He fought like a man possessed by a great evil."

"Our forces are not ready" Grave said, forestalling the incredulous looks on the others. "The most well-trained are just now learning how to properly hold the shield wall."

Claudia's heart went out to the poor Thalia, whose expression nearly broke under the man's words. Her own fear for Alicia and Prim threatened to overwhelm her. The possibility had never crossed her mind that they would face such a threat, and so soon. They were not ready for it.

But they would have to be.

"I will take the Dawn Templars that we have available" Claudia announced. She reached up and put a placating hand on her father's shoulder. "And any men that volunteer. At first light I will put out the call, and we will march. Master Shannegh, Maia, I would ask you accompany us."

"If Vult is there, that is where I need to be" Louk Shannegh answered. His two companions nodded as well. "We will need siege equipment."

"That I cannot offer" Claudia admitted. "We will be riding fast. It is a two day journey by horse. Time is something we cannot afford to waste. With your permission, father, I will have orderlies start assembling a wagon train and have them set out tonight."

"Certainly" Grave agreed. He looked to Thalia. "Your other rider did alert the regent of Ur of the danger?"

"The Pantielle family was my sister's task" Thalia confirmed. "With luck, they will already have their army at the Scarred Tooth Fort."

"Nevertheless, I would ride with all speed" Claudia insisted. "Two Shields of Eostia are threatened, and we cannot risk the pass being reopened. Renee" she indicated one of the family's retainers. "Send a messenger to White Guard. Have Goddess Celeste informed of the situation."

The Holy Iris knight shifted restlessly by the table. Claudia realized the poor thing had not slept in days. Her body wavered where she stood.

"Somebody get Thalia to a bed. Chamberlain, bring her food and wine to revive her, but make sure she gets rest."

"I am fine" Thalia insisted, halting the servant with an upraised hand.

"We won't be leaving until the morning" Claudia told her. "You have accomplished your duty. Rest, because the ride back to your sisters will be just as harrowing as the ride here."

The knight agreed reluctantly, and allowed the chamberlain to guide her out of the room. Claudia glared at some of the muttering faces in the room, staring each one down until they all fell silent.

"Gentlemen and ladies, I hope you made the best of your training. It appears the war has already come to Eostia. To those that are not travelling with us to rescue our fellow warriors, I expect you will train all the harder. For those who are coming with, if this is your first time to war, I warn you now that it is no glorious thing. War is brutal, horrible, and will be all the more so if we are facing men on the other side of the battlefield. Arm yourselves with courage, and temper your blades. We fight for Eostia and the Goddess. With her by our side, we cannot fail."

A chorus of assents filled the room. She took a step to the side while her father issued orders to the various commanders, telling each their role in the upcoming hours to prepare the wagon train and gather supplies. While they spoke, Claudia beckoned for Louk Shannegh to approach. He did, with Chloe and Maia close by his side. The mercenary Shield had a contemplative grimace on her face as she sifted through the plan.

"Without proper siege equipment, taking the Scarred Tooth Fort will be next to impossible" Claudia admitted in a hushed tone. "Starving them out is unlikely, and the waiting game would play into their hands. We must rescue Prim and Alicia as quickly as we can."

Louk Shannegh said nothing, but his expression indicated he did not agree with her words. She eyed him for a moment.

"We will have to move quickly" he said at last, not answering her unspoken question. "I can breach the fortress by myself. Opening the gates will prove more troublesome."

Choosing to accept his assertion at face value, Claudia nodded. "If you can make the walls and defend them, we can run ladders and ropes behind you."

"That could work" he agreed. "Ropes would be better. Easier to approach the walls with."

"I can scale any wall" Chloe added, her face set in a serious way. "Two can hold the wall better than one."

"I will be the first one up after you then" Maia joined, unwilling to be left behind. "Once we have enough to take the gatehouse, we pop it open and you ride in with the Dawn Templars. I know Khoros' men. They won't be able to stand against a full force of proper knights."

"This is all assuming they will still be in the fortress" Louk Shannegh noted. "If they are in the field?"

"Then we establish an attack plan based on the terrain" Claudia replied. "You will be hunting Vult, I assume."

"Yes."

"Then I will not incorporate you into our command structure. Maia, Chloe?"

"With him" Maia said, gesturing to Louk Shannegh.

"I am to stay by his side" Chloe agreed.

"Against the there of you" Claudia said, looking each in the eye in turn, "Vult won't stand a chance."

 **-v-**

 **Ur**

They were all dead.

Louk Shannegh placed his foot down slowly, careful to avoid the tangle of corpses as he picked his way forwards through the blood soaked field. Hundreds of bodies surrounded him. Armored knights, leather-clad peasants, and more. The army of Ur, or that which the Pantielle family had been able to muster with such short notice. They had marched for the Scarred Tooth Fort with commendable haste.

He was uncertain how they had died, more specifically what conditions had led to this disastrous slaughter, but it hardly mattered. He estimated two thousand dead. Possibly as high as three. It was hard to tell because of the sheer brutality that had been wrought on the bodies of the fallen. Skin flayed from bones, limbs torn away and mangled. To his back, staring in abject horror and despair, were fifty knights of the Dawn Templars and two hundred armored soldiers. Their small force paled in comparison to the dead here. The warning was simple, screaming out like a bereaved mother over the still shape of her broken child.

Still, his curiosity drew him inwards, stalking across the field to inspect the fallen. At the head of the carnage waited a gruesome effigy, taunting them and daring them to advance. Spears impaled into the bloodied earth, mounted with heads of the fallen. He recognized one easily enough. Magnus' rictus scowl had not faded, even in decomposition. The defiance burning in his dulled eyes still resonated despite his gruesome end. Beside that, an elderly head, hearty yet for its age. That would be the regent Pantielle. The others he did not recognize, and doubted he would. Except perhaps the young woman's head still bearing the helm of the Holy Iris Chivalric Order. Sir Thalia's companion.

Throne, this had not been a battle. It had been a butchery.

Stooping over no body in particular, Louk ran a hand lightly over its still form. His inspection showed little more information, but something about the corpse caught his eye. Staring silently, he considered the way it had fallen. Looking to the next, he traced the path of the body. Then he went to the next, and the one after that. Slowly, gradually, a shape began to form. A pattern that sat poorly in his mind as he reached the center of the spiral and looked out. Turning on his heel, Louk Shannegh counted the bodies in the pattern.

Sixty six. Looped in an infinite spiral, repeating and crossing over each other. Each corpse laid out in a specific pattern, drawn out like a brush stroke of death over the grass. Ritual placement. The daemon loved his rituals.

Worse, though, was the realization that this army had not been set upon by the Demon Legion, or by traitor mercenaries. They had fallen on each other. The pattern had been burnt into the ground underneath the dead. It had waited for them, and they had walked into it unsuspecting. Sorcery had defeated the army without _Virtuoso_ having to lift a finger. It was the voyeur's victory. Something that the daemon was not above finding delight in.

"Madness" Claudia breathed, her voice taut with strain. The Shield wore her riding armor, a lighter form of the heavily armored plate she was known for carrying into battle. Scalemail protected her from throat to toe, with an engraved cuirass and angled pauldrons protecting her vitals. Her helm's visor remained up; Louk knew she wanted nothing more than to drop the face-concealing slab so none could see the anger and helplessness raging on her face. She stood facing him, away from their force. Louk did not begrudge her the human reaction. He would have worried if she hadn't displayed it.

"It was" he agreed, "though not as you mean." Rising to his feet, he ran a hand through his hair. His beard was growing long. It had been most of a month since he had trimmed it down. Such a simple and unimportant thought should not have registered to him, but it did, and he idly wondered whether or not to shave it all off. "The demons did not do this."

"Their wounds are wild, but I recognized the cut of tempered steel" the knight countered, her voice low so only he could hear. "This army attacked itself."

Her observation surprised him. There was no point in denying it.

"They marched over a ritual glyph. Odds are good there are more of them sprinkled across the landscape."

"How can we fight an enemy that does such things?"

"Draw it out from its den. Same way you hunt a Grail Lion."

Of course Claudia would not know what the towering savage beast called a Grail Lion was. That it took a dozen men armed with explosive-tipped spears to crack open its chitinous armor, then a carefully placed strike at its throat to cut its arteries without spoiling the meat and adrenal glands. That one average five men died for each Grail Lion killed. But predators were all hunted the same. Draw them into the open and pin them down, finish them with overwhelming force. He lacked the overwhelming force, but it could still be done.

He just had to be the better predator.

"What do I tell them?"

"To watch their step" Louk replied. "There will be more of these, likely spread out across this field. We continue on."

Though she said nothing, he could hear the tramp of her armored boots as she turned to direct their small force. Secretly, he took this as a good sign. There were two reasonable assumptions that could be drawn from this horror. The first, that _Virtuoso_ lacked the numbers for a straight up fight and had resorted to this madness as a shield. The second, that their force would be unexpected, could slip past the carnage and surprise the daemon. After all, it could hardly expect the people of this world to stomach this scene. They were far too soft for that.

A collection of curses burst from the those assembled behind him. Louk glanced up, and swore.

Vult stood beside the mounted heads. How he had appeared there defied reason. The field extended another fifty or so meters past the dead, and his approach could not have gone unnoticed. Or he had been there the entire time. Watching, waiting. A spider camouflaged in anticipation of its prey taking the bait.

Louk's nerves tingled with the sudden rush of adrenaline of a nearby foe. He held hands open, resisting the urge to snatch up his blade, and took a determined step forwards. He could not afford to retreat, even if only for a step. Not like this. Anger burned in his veins at the thought he had stumbled into a trap.

The creature hid something at its side, covered by its cloak. Human sized. Its armor was immaculately dirty, dinged and muddied exactly as it had been when they set foot in Olga's fortress in Garan. A teasing reminder of how they had first laid eyes on each other in this world. If it intended the action to draw him off balance, it failed. Louk did not care what condition it came in. It would die the same.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Louk heard the subtle shift of drawn weapons, of feet maneuvering around the dead for better placement. Raising one hand, he indicated for his comrades to hold their position.

"Claudia" he called out, not turning away from the daemon. It waited patiently, a leering grin on its face as it let its attention wander across the assemblage.

"By your side" the woman answered, appearing to his right.

He approached the daemon-Vult, hands loose at his sides. Claudia Levantine showed less restraint, and kept her shield and sword at the ready as the two drew close to the grisly display, and the one who had created it.

The creature stirred finally, lifting its right hand as if it might offer it. The sickly scent of too much sweet tickled Louk's nostrils as he stopped short. When it spoke, it spoke with a deceptively gentle tone.

" _The Reaper_ , you honor me by visiting my tapestry. I fear it is not quite finished. You must excuse the mess."

"Speak" Louk growled. "So I can skip to the part where I end you."

His threat earned a patronizing chuckle. The daemon regarded Claudia next, and slithered a too-long forked tongue out to lick its lips. "And you brought the sow. I have learned so much of you, Claudia Levantine. Such a fertile field. Once I claim you I will teach you such ecstasy you will shiver at the thought of my voice."

To her credit, Claudia did not flinch. Her cheeks colored, and a fierce glimpse of rage flickered across her face. Her sword rose, aimed for its heart.

"You will fail, creature. Just as all the others."

"I am so unlike the others" the daemon replied, its voice growing sharp for that single word. Its irritation soured the aroma it projected. "Breaking you will be a treat."

"You have said your piece" Louk interrupted. He drew _Durendal_. "Now you die."

"It is customary to grant a visitor a wish" daemon-Vult interjected, thought it showed no fear at the unsheathing of the blade. "Your kind do so honor their hospitality."

Every fiber in his being insisted on striking now. Louk raised the blade. Claudia shared the same thought, and dropped into a cautious stance as took the first step away from Louk, aiming to split the daemon's attention. At the sight of imminent hostility, his other companions began their own advance.

"And I prepared it so especially for you" the daemon continued. Shrugging the cloak aside, it revealed the thing by its side.

Claudia faltered, her breath leaving her in a horrified gasp. To their rear, Knight Thalia let out an agonized cry.

At first glance, Louk thought he was looking at Prim Fiorire. Her once-brilliant pink hair spilled dully down her shoulders, as flat and lifeless as the body that wore it. The young princess's face was stretched taut, skin pulled over the face that carried it, sewn roughly into the flesh of the wretched thing at the daemon-Vult's side. Blood still seeped from the reddened scars where the needle had pierced and cut. Similar flaps of stolen skin wrapped around its throat, streamed down its arms, covered its breasts. The figure stood nude, motionless in the cold air, clad only in the skin of the Princess Fiorire.

"Alicia" Claudia groaned. The commander sank to her knees, overcome by the monstrous sight. Thalia's cry trailed off to a wrenching sob, and each piercing wail spoke of a loss far more intimate than that of a lieutenant and her commander.

There was no discernible expression through the mask of other-skin, but Louk could read the agony in Alicia's eyes. It was caged, suppressed, overpowered by the presence of _Virtuoso_ , but it was there. Her soul was still her own. The daemon had not taken her mind away. She lay trapped inside this grotesque shell.

"She does not answer to that name anymore" the daemon purred. It ran a hand from one shoulder to the other, encompassing the young woman in a lover's caress. "What is your name?"

"I am a sleeve" came the monotone, broken voice.

"A sleeve…" Heedless of the weapons raised against it, _Virtuoso_ let his hand wander down Alicia's body, tracing the edges of the skin. Prim had been a small woman, and only so much of Alicia was covered. The real skin between her covering was bruised, bloody. "This one took something from me, something I had greatly looked forward to. One attack of defiance, sacrificing herself to save her dearly loved kin. Touching, truly."

Louk leaned forwards, setting his weight for a lunge. The daemon did not appear worried, but it was a dangerously fast being, and no amount of surprise could catch it unawares. His first blow would have to be decisive.

"Killing her own kindred to protect it" the daemon said. Its fingers crawled lower, slipping between her hips. "It brought this one so much pain. I could not bear to see it suffer. So I made sure it will never be parted from her again."

A soft noise trickled out from Prim's dead lips. To any other it sounded like a fearful noise, a terrified whimper. Louk heard the underlying pleasure in the noise as _Virtuoso's_ fingers began to twitch between the woman's hips.

"You… monster" Claudia grunted. Rising back to her feet, the Shield commander blinked back tears and resumed her stance. It was clear she wanted to attack, needed to attack, but she waited. Whether out of trust in Louk or uncertainty, he was not sure.

"Am I?" It pulled a wry grin. "This one feared being alone. I ensured it never will be. Every night I send it on errands through my army, and it services all those who command it along the way. Its nights are spent in rapture and bliss. I cannot think of a better fate for such a wretched thing. But you, Knight Levantine. I think I would keep you to myself."

A furious scream split the air, not from Claudia, but from Thalia. The Holy Iris knight surged between them, her sword arcing down at the daemon with the speed of a thunderbolt. Her blade gleamed like silver, born by the strength of hate. The daemon snatched the blade out of the knight's hands with contemptuous ease. It hurled the blade aside and grabbed the knight by her throat. Thalia's scream crumpled into a gurgle as her feet left the ground to dangle in the air.

Louk charged, using the knight as a distraction. Sweeping around to the daemon's right, he brought _Durendal_ under Thalia's feet, cutting for its feet. It leapt high, as he had expected, and threw his shoulder into the thing's chest. Daemon-Vult let out a shriek as it tumbled backwards, its grip on Alicia loosening. A horrendous crunching sound announced Thalia's death as her neck snapped in the daemon's grip. Not letting that slow him down, Louk drove _Durendal_ into the daemon's stomach. _Virtuoso_ screeched and wailed as the runeblade separated flesh and cut to the soul. Its scream rocked them all backwards, sending Claudia's charging form reeling away. Even Alicia staggered to her knees, her hands going over Prim's cold ears as she screamed in empathetic pain.

"Retreat" Louk bellow, ordering the rest back before they could close in. _Virtuoso_ was wounded, but already recovering. Ripping _Durendal_ free, Louk backpedaled furiously as armored fists nearly took his legs off. The daemon gave chase, ripping Vult's massive hunk of iron free of its scabbard. The black metal shimmered threateningly as daemon-Vult advanced.

Chloe leapt to his side, twisting under the sword to slice her daggers across the creature's legs. One slid uselessly off the armored greave, the other drew blood across its knee. Continuing her momentum, the dark elf rolled out of range and came up opposite daemon-Vult, her eyes wild with battle-frenzy.

"Retreat" Louk ordered, again, leaping forward to draw the creature's attention before it could turn on her. "Get Claudia out of here!"

"I stand by your side" the dark elf yelled back. Taking advantage of his assault, she charged daemon-Vult's back and leapt high, pirouetting to bring both daggers slamming home into the gap between Vult's pauldron and ear. At the last possible moment the daemon turned, catching both blades on its armored pauldron, while still swinging its sword with enough speed to send Louk diving to the side.

He could not risk a glance back to confirm what Maia and Claudia were doing. Hopefully taking his advice and returning to the lines. The broken form of Alicia knelt in the dead to his right, sobbing hysterically as it ran hands over the skin sewn across its face.

The field remained silent, empty. It would not for long. Louk knew enough of _Virtuoso_ to understand it never allowed itself to be engaged without backup, without an easy way out. There would be enemies nearby. Quite possibly a whole assault force.

The daemon had expected them to find this field. To stall over it, to remain in place long enough for it to engage. To draw their attention in. Like flies to honey.

"Damn it, Chloe! This is a trap."

"My mistress would not forgive me if I let you fall" Chloe huffed, slinking over to stand by his side. Her breathing was light, steady, ready for more. Daemon-Vult's blood dripped from the one dagger. The cut had been shallow, nothing more.

"You can't go kill Mandeville if you die here" Louk shot back. He took a hand off _Durendal_ and grabbed her by the collar. The dark elf let out a squeak of surprise as he yanked her backwards, shoving her towards the waiting line. "Get your ass back to the army. Tell them to form up, prepare for an assault."

"How could you-"

"Run, little bird" the daemon mocked. Its face twisted into a smile that no earthly being could replicate. "Run, while you can."

The dark elf hesitated, but looked into Louk's eyes and understood. Nodding curtly, she rushed back to the line. This time Louk allowed himself to turn from the daemon. Claudia and Maia had obediently returned to the lines, and were swiftly forming their terrified forces together into a battle line.

Good on them.

"Now then" the daemon hissed, not losing its smile. "We were interrupted?"

It struck first, the massive iron blade cutting a bloody layer from Louk's arm as he frantically attempted to dodge. The daemon's blade set his arm ablaze, empyric flames blistering and bubbling across his arm. A howl of pain ripped free, and Louk slashed at the daemon in return, opening its wrist to the bone. Steaming vitae whispered free into the air, polluting the already rank sweetness with a torrent of rotten meat smell.

Blood sprayed again and against as they traded blows, each moving with a speed to defy mortal physics. The daemon-Vult wielded its monstrous weapon as lightly as an Eldar blademaster, and Louk's body had long ago rejected the restrictions of its mortal form. _Durendal_ and the black iron stabbed and slashed so quickly that the air shrieked for their passing. Wounds opened and closed just as rapidly. Advances and retreats carried them across the field.

Louk had fought powerful and swift opponents before. Never something like this. It took every ounce of his focus and strength to come even with the daemon. Its infernal power meant each parry sent shivers through his bones. Summoning every trick he knew, he dodged, countered, and sacrificed tempting opportunities to survive. _Durendal_ blazed hot in his hands, scorching his own palms as the runeblade glutted on each droplet of daemon blood it drew.

The world faded to black around them, blocked out as he honed his senses into the duel. He pushed out the distant shouts of command, war horns, and the clash of armies. Close his eyes to the world spinning around him as he circled _Virtuoso_ , trading blows faster than the eye could follow. They moved as much on instinct as skill. The black iron streaked again and again, shattering the earth when it missed its mark, fracturing bones when it struck _Durendal_. Each second brought fresh agony coursing through his veins.

"You surround yourself with such succulent treats" _Virtuoso_ mused, not giving him time to respond. "I wonder what you did with the sorceress. You felt it too, _Reaper_. You know the power she wields."

"Feck you" Louk snarled.

 _Virtuoso's_ smile grew still for a moment. A craft gleam lit its eyes, and its expression twisted into a parody of arrogant triumph. "Oh, that is interesting."

Batting the black blade high, Louk threw his entire weight into a thrust aimed at the daemon's chest. _Durendal_ punched through its meager armor, slamming straight through to the hilt. Its screech blurred his vision, striking like its own physical blow. Something crumbled inside it, and Louk drove the daemon to the ground, twisting and wrenching the blade inside the creature's torso.

A ripple cascaded out of the wound, shoving Louk back so powerfully he landed on his feet. _Durendal_ glowed white-hot. The daemon remained on the ground, giggle with pain and mirth as the wound in its chest failed to closed up. The damage wrought by the runeblade was far too severe, too deep, to heal easily. It may as well have been a mortal wound.

"Touched a nerve… did I?" Daemon-Vult chuckled. "I should add her to my collection. I hope you have left her pure."

An animal snarl exploded from his lungs, and Louk swept _Durendal_ down, taking daemon-Vult's head from its shoulders. The body convulsed wildly, limbs kicking and thrashing as its head rolled away, mouth parted in silent mirth and eyes growing white and sightless. For several long seconds, the body thrashed, rotting away in mere seconds until only the armor and cloth remained. Flesh and bone melted to dust, absorbed into the mud their battling had churned up.

It was done.

Louk took a long breath, closed his eyes, and released the tension from his mind. All at once, the sound of battle returned in full force. Orcs and imps had swarmed out of the forest to either flank, and the small force of knights and peasants stood encircled, battling valiantly against the much larger force. He could see the flowing mane of Chloe's hair as the dark elf danced through the enemy mob outside the shield wall, slicing and cutting like a fae assassin, always a step out of reach to any return swings. Maia and Claudia no doubt stood on the shield wall, equally directing their forces as well as slaying the foe.

Louk stood alone, except for the weeping Alicia.

 _Durendal_ remained drawn as he approached the pitiful woman.

"Kill me" Alicia mumbled, her words wet with tears and sorrow. "Kill me, please."

"You slew Prim" Louk asked, seeking confirmation.

"There was no other way."

"I know." _Durendal_ rose over his head. "Your suffering can end here, Alicia. For what it is worth, you were brave at the end. You saved your cousin's soul by keeping her from the daemon's clutches."

He brought the sword down, aiming for a clean cut to separate her head from her shoulders.

Alicia twisted on her knees, and the dagger in her hand punched into his stomach. _Durendal_ plunged harmlessly into the mud as Prim's face stretched in a wide, inhuman grin.

"A soul for a soul" Alicia murmured, in a voice that resonated like her own, but was not. Violet bloomed in her eyes. "She did not have the right to take the sweet thing from me."

"Son… bitch" Louk grunted. Grabbing the dagger's hilt with one hand, he planted his foot on its chest and kicked it away. Cold spilled outwards from the wound, and Louk knew he had been poisoned.

"Did you think it so easy" the daemon-Alicia mocked. "That the fly could kill the spider?"

It rose to its feet, fragrant tears dripping from Prim's eye-holes. The sickening stench choked his throat, and Louk stumbled backwards. He wrenched the dagger free and hurled it away. _Durendal_ dragged along the mud at his side.

"So you… _feck_ … can jump between hosts?"

"I have so many threads to choose from" it promised. "So very many minds at my beck and call. You had your chance, Reaper. And you let it slip from your fingers."

His sword came up, almost lazily compared to his earlier speed, but startlingly fast nonetheless. The Alicia-daemon sidestepped, its grin narrowing, growing deeper. Hungrier.

"I want you too" the daemon assured him. It reached up a hand to caress his face. He darted back, thrust the sword between them. Clicking its tongue in chastisement, it ran a hand over its body. "Am I not pretty enough for you? Should I cut out this one's tongue?"

A crystal note emerged from across the field. Louk and the daemon both glanced over, inspecting the late arrivals with dismissive curiosity. Two full squadrons of Holy Iris Knights galloped towards the fray, their pennants streaming overhead as they split into a pair of wedge formations. The intent was clear, to sweep the flanks from the demons surrounding their beleaguered force.

"I will treasure our time together" the daemon told him. It ran a skin-covered finger over its lips. "Be well, Reaper. Next time I shall arrange for a more private conversation."

It turned to leave, and Louk lunged for its back. There was a flicker of movement, a shimmer in its form, and a shattering cold blossomed in his chest. He had not seen it move, or recognized the rapier it had drawn from an unseen sheath. Alicia's blade pierced him through and through, and his strength drained away as he fell to his knees. The daemon grinned down at him.

"A parting gift, for me? I must return it in kind."

The Alicia-daemon crouched down in front of him. Louk wanted to lean away, to strike at her, but his arms hung heavy at his sides. Prim's macabre mask regarded him with burning violet passion, and the daemon lean close to press a slow, sensuous kiss on his lips. Its touch burned like fire, filling his skull with intense pain. Then _Virtuoso_ withdrew, and sauntered off into the trees. He heaved a choking breath, his lungs freeing from its lingering scent, and fell face first in the mud.


	25. Grace in Loss

**SURPRISE! Shorter chapter ahead, but I managed a quick turnaround and kept some momentum, partially in thanks to a local power outage that had me spending a solid evening at everyone's favorite Mcburger joint with my laptop. Figured after the brutality of the last chapter y'all could use a bit of a pick-me-up (note this does not legally oblige this chapter to be a happy one. Still grimdark).**

 **Reviewers –**

 **Dracus6 –** I actually started replaying Killzone 2 the other day because I found my Playstation 3 after two years of it being lost. God, I love that series so much. Not familiar with the other one, but I can promise you I hardly have the attention span to keep this story rolling. Giving me another idea is dangerous. I've derailed so many of my own stories by trying to tackle too many stories at once. :D  
 **Guest –** To quote "This is Spinal Tap": 'But this one goes to eleven!'  
 **Linkonpark100 –** That sounds like work. Lol. But yes, horror would be a good tag for it.  
 **Vatican Templar –** Khorne cares not from where the blood flows. Only that it flows. In essence though, isn't Louk just continuing the tradition set by the Reaper? Pretty sure he's equally ranked on Khorne's shit list as on his badass list.  
 **ManwithaPlan113 –** Smurfs? WE DON'T NEED NO DAMN SMURFS! Could you imagine Cato Sicarius in Eostia? That would be a textbook Emperor's Text to Speech episode.  
 **Ekurman –** Glad you like it that much!  
 **Guest 2 –** a happy chapter? Are you sure you're reading the right story? Lol  
 **Danteinfernus –** That whole sentence made me giggle. It's gonna get tragic.  
 **Disciple of Ember –** I think I got a hint of that idea from Event Horizon. That movie has inspired a bit of the grimdark in this fanfic. I mean, since it _IS_ set in the Warhammer universe (according to fan theory, at least. Obviously it isn't. Maybe). Oh yeah, Prim died clean. She got the easy way out. But now Louk knows there isn't any sort of easy way to deal with _Virtuoso_. You can probably see just how dark this story is going to get before the end. This story has so much more coming.  
 **Guest 3 -** You know, there was a gap between me writing the first half and second half of this chapter. I totally forgot that line was in the same chapter. When I went back and read it, I laughed way too hard at it.  
 **SomeGuyOverHere –** Warhammer: When the bad guy dying sets off warning bells. _Virtuoso_ being so "agile" is going to pose all the problems. But it's fine. Louk's the good guy, and good guys always win. Right? As for his power level (8th edition pun) I mean, just because Virtuoso is the strongest being he's fought against doesn't mean he's worked his way up the chain. The daemon is definitely leaps and bounds beyond an ordinary mortal, but I can assure you, whenever I get back into writing Louk's next pure 40k story, he's going to be fighting Astartes among other things.  
 **Abdiel Amaro –** I tried to get into RWBY a few times. It just didn't click for me. The premise and all that sounds awesome, but yes, I've noticed a literal flood of RWBY crossovers everywhere the past couple years. If I watched the show I am sure I would enjoy them. Overlord would obviously lose to a galaxy at war, but I think Ainz and his posse could have a pretty solid last stand before they went. As for a Keeper of Secrets, that's a bit rough to read, because the storytelling on those guys, and other major daemons, are all over the place. Sometimes they are world-swallowing terrors, other times an invisible dude with a flamer can RKO the bitch (Yes, he was an Exorcist, but still…)  
 **Spectre –** I mean, if you wanted to follow the plot of Kuroinu just go watch the VN or the series. A good fanfic doesn't use the existing plot as a crutch.

Apologies about any weird formatting issues. Website was not liking Microsoft Word transfer.

* * *

 **The White Citadel**

Olga studied the bottom of her glass, watching the droplets slide into each other, twisting the glass about to bring them together, lazily creating a minuscule pool of wine. Once enough had formed to properly drink down, she tipped the glass and waited for it to trickle down to her lips. For a brief moment she closed her eyes and shut out the rest of the world, savoring the flavor of one of Celeste's personal favorites.

When her eyes opened again, she caught the lingering glare of Archbishop Grishom. The man's hateful stare was unashamed, ferocious. He thought he was a predator, a dangerous man. If he though Olga a creature of prey, then he was more foolish than she had thought. Certainly dangerous. Olga considered the Archbishop to be the worst cancer in Eostia. Celeste allowed her church on the condition that they worked for the betterment of the people. To some degree, they did. The outliers and parish churches were a blessing to the poor. Grishom and his lackeys were not. They were full of greed, of pride. It amazed her how those so close to Celeste were the least pious.

Holding his stare, Olga set the glass on the table. She would not be the first to blink. A century of facing demons and monsters had formed her iron will, and no petty religious tyrant could compare. Eventually, he looked away, though his disgust had not faded. If anything, his anger burned hotter at losing the simple contest of wills.

She smirked, and lifted a thin hand to summon a servant to refill her glass.

Across the table, the discussion continued. Conscription had not gone over well. Multiple provinces had registered complaints. Governors had refused to raise their tithes. More troubling, some regions had not even sent back a reply of any kind. Feoh and Thorn, the outermost territories, had yet to send any news back to the White Citadel. Things were not progressing smoothly. The world did not understand the threat _Virtuoso_ posed.

That ignorance would lead to their doom.

Her appearance at the council had come from Celeste's request. Olga thought she had been clear enough these past weeks; they were no longer the close friends that Celeste still wished they were. Celeste had never been one to give up though. Just as Olga had made it clear that things had changed, Celeste had remained insistent that she would revert the status quo. That unbridled optimism had started to irritate. Once Olga had loved her for it. Now she found it to be a waste of time.

It did not mean she could not enjoy the perks of being in the council room. Choice wine and delicious snacks. The jealous eye of Eostia's most powerful men. Background chatter to give the sensation of not being alone.

The doors to the council chamber opened behind her. Olga did not turn; her elven hearing detected the thump of a familiar tread, and she smelled the unique and intoxicating scent of the man who rescued her in Garan. For the briefest moment confusion flickered in her ind, mirrored visibly by the expression that stole over Celeste's face. The assemblage turned to inspect the unannounced arrival.

More than a few gasps greeted his appearance. Olga resisted the urge to turn. One of the nobles wretched.

"Everyone out" Louk Shannegh growled.

There were no complaints, no discussion. As one, the nobles and officials scrambled out of their chairs and hurried for the exit. Olga remained seated. If there was anyone excluded from his dour command, it was her. She knew more than even Celeste of the danger they faced.

Louk Shannegh strode past her, his left hand brushing across the back of her chair as he moved past the scurrying officials. They rushed out, none daring to argue against the man who…

Gods in heaven, he was covered in blood. Her breath hitched at the sight of it. Sleeves crimson to his elbows, clothes and armor rent time and time again. Had she not known his secret, she would have thought him a walking corpse. Shock held her rigid as the man moved up the side of the table.

"Louk?" Celeste stood and moved to meet him. "What… what happened?"

He nearly crashed into her, only barely stopping in time to avoid running the startled high elf over. Exhaustion poured from his body, his eyes drooped, and Olga guessed he had not slept in days. She rose behind them, unsure of what he had to say, but knowing that it was something she would not want to miss.

Louk grabbed Celeste by the arm, as much to steady himself as to ensure he had her rapt attention. The Goddess blanched, a sliver of pain creasing her face, but did not pull back. Pulling her close, Louk whispered something so softly that Olga could not catch it. His words were lost in Celeste's ear, but the impact of them read plain as day on the Goddess's face.

Her face paled, expression growing slack. Disbelief crept into her face, then horror. Finally, despair tore the life from her eyes, and the Goddess collapsed sobbing into Louk Shannegh's arms.

Her heart twinged, an ache growing in her chest. The desire to rush forward and envelope Celeste clutched at her heart. A tightness closed around her throat at the sight of Celeste's tear-stained face. But she could not go to her. Not anymore. They were not children, and Celeste needed to stand on her own. Olga could not risk letting them become close again. Not with the world's weight on Celeste's shoulders. Olga would not be the one to break her heart.

Frozen by indecision, Olga waited. Celeste clung to Louk Shannegh, her face buried in his chest, her weeping muffled by his comforting arms. The man himself appeared little better. He did not cry. Olga was not certain if a man like him could. But she read the pain that seeped through the cracks of his cold mask. The anger and rage and helplessness of a wounded animal. His head turned slightly, eye flicking in her direction. Olga felt the cold touch of dread slide over her shoulders when she caught his gaze.

His eyes showed defeat.

Olga sank heavily into a chair.

After some time, Celeste's tears dried out. The Goddess eased free of Louk Shannegh's arms, gazing up at him with reddened eyes. Her mouth moved to speak, but Celeste simply groaned, and sagged once again against him. He walked her back to her throne and eased her down, taking care to move her gently.

"I am sorry" he told her. "I will tell the guards to let none disturb you until you say otherwise."

Turning his back on Celeste, he approached Olga. She met his gaze fearfully, not willing to see the shadow in his certainty. His hand stretched out and she accepted it, rising gracefully to her feet.

"You should go to her side" he told her.

"I cannot." Olga refused to look at her childhood friend, now curled up in her throne, her face hidden in her knees. The words stabbed as painfully as a knife wound. Blinking back the tears that tried to form, Olga turned her head away. She could not let any see that weakness. Not even Louk Shannegh.

"Walk with me, then. Give her time to mourn."

She did not ask whose life Celeste wept for. She would know, in time. Holding her silence, Olga slipped her arm through his and allowed him to escort her into the hallway. Louk Shannegh gave the gruff order for the guards to keep all out.

The halls of the White Citadel were obscenely quiet. Once he was certain they were alone, Louk Shannegh began to speak. He told her everything. And Olga listened with growing horror and realized that Louk Shannegh knew fear.

 **-v-**

Grace collapsed wearily on the bed. It had been a long day of reading and compiling reports into a coherent review. In her need to be productive she had taken her self-appointed role as Louk Shannegh's secretary to the extreme. Every scrap of incoming paper was documented, studied, and filed into a proper queue. His excess items were catalogued, clothes washed and prepared. She even took the liberty of ordering armory supplies from the White Citadel's blacksmiths. Sure enough he would need to clean and maintain his weapons between campaign.

A neat pile of letters and notes rose from one corner of the desk: letters of introduction, invitations, and general queries best left for the man himself to attend to. Those that posed little bother or important she had replied to in his stead. She doubted that a man like Louk Shannegh cared overly much for doing paperwork, much less responding to the inevitable flood of curiosity that greeted his appearance in Celeste's court. Insofar as she thought prudent, she took the load off his shoulders so that he never had to know it was there. Some things, however, were best left to his own judgment.

On the opposite side of the letters were two stacks of reports. The first was the daily influx of news and military activities. The second, much smaller stack, was that of the first condensed into a quick read, with highlighted notes, references, and general legibility much improved. It was the kind of thing she had done for her husband back…

No, she thought, shaking her head to clear the treacherous memories away. This is not the same. He is not, would not be hers. That Grace knew for certain. She had known it since her conversation with Olga. For all her physical desire for the man, Grace knew it was nothing more than need. Need for comfort, need for security. Louk Shannegh granted her that freely, and she knew that he would not deny her if she went to him again.

But it was wrong. She did not belong with him.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Grace let out a long sigh. It was obvious, of course, now that she had taken a step back and thought it through.

Poor Olga.

The girl had barely started to bloom when they lost it all at Mournival. She probably had not even understood what love was when her family had been butchered, when she fled her people and sought refuge in the then-beautiful lands of Garan. What insanity had pushed her to such an extreme? To abandon what little she had left and devote her life, _her soul_ , to guarding the whole world from the demons. Grace knew what she had done. Most the entire dark elven kingdom knew it, though none would admit it openly. In the century of her reign, the dark elves had not been attacked once by the Demon Legion. The price they paid in return for that safety was the hatred and enmity of the rest of the world. It did not matter that Olga's reign had held the demons in check. She was the _Dark Queen_. The ruler of the Demon Legion was a dark elf. That stigma would last for centuries, millennia even. And every dark elf in Eostia suffered for it.

And in those hundred years Olga had endured radical changes to her body, her identity. Elven puberty was a wild thing. Their elevated senses expanded even further than before, and with that sensitivity came a whole host of challenges that required willpower and wit to adapt to. Grace still remembered how, in the throes of her own blooming, there had been an entire year when a simple gust of wind on her ears had set her head spinning and her thighs aching. Most elven children were born to young parents, parents caught up in the throes of these changes. After the wildness settled into maturity the carnal allure of their senses faded. It was heaven's fortune that Grace had found her husband early on and had enjoyed thirty years of indescribable bliss before their bodies settled down.

Poor Olga had gone through it all locked up in her self-established prison. The girl must have never known a lover, or even truly appreciated the concept of it. Then Louk Shannegh had sprung into her life, performed a dashing rescue, and stolen the Dark Queen of Garan's heart as surely as a fox took eggs from a henhouse. There was no denying it. Not after her outburst. In so few words she had admitted so much.

Olga Discordia was madly in love with Louk Shannegh.

She hadn't even realized it yet. But Grace knew the signs, saw her young self reflected in Olga when the queen watched him, when she shut out her surroundings just to concentrate on the man, ears straining to catch his words, eyes hungrily devouring his every motion. The balcony on this level had practically become Olga's second home. From there she could indulge in her fancies while eagerly awaiting his return, carefully positioned to spot his arrival before any other.

Grace had thought her smitten at first, and for that short time, she had felt immense self-satisfaction in telling Olga that Grace, not Olga, had claimed Louk Shannegh as a bed-fellow. Now that brought her nothing but shame and self-loathing. Circumstances aside, Grace had behaved like a child. Her own shock at seeing Olga again had overcome her sensibilities. In the process she had lashed out, had hurt her young sister-in-law. Family did not hurt family. She had dishonored Olga and herself with her actions.

That was why she had packed her things. There was not much, just the case she had brought from Bold Fortune. A few extra dresses, courtesy of Celeste's seamstresses, and small bottles of perfume and sundries she had collected. She was not moving far. Anna continued to improve. The pace was grueling, exhaustingly slow, but now the high elf was responsive, and could at least visibly listen when Grace spoke to her. Grace had decided she would move into Anna's room. Her condition was not so urgent that she needed constant medical supervision. And the bed was more than enough for the two of them.

To be truthful, Grace missed having her so close. Sleeping here in Louk Shannegh's room, it was lonely. The nights he had been here he slept at the desk, remaining awake long into the night until exhaustion forced him asleep. Grace had offered half the bed, embarrassed that her savior would not touch his own bed on her behalf. He refused the offer, claiming there was too much to do. That was a lie. She had laid there one night, watching him through slit eyes. For four hours he sat there, staring at the fireplace as the embers cooled. Each time he started to nod off he shook himself, forcing himself to remain awake. After the sixth time he finally drifted off to sleep, slumping against the chair like a dead man.

That was when the nightmares came.

Grace did not know what he had suffered through in his life. She knew the look of a once-broken soul, however, and the nightmares that accompanied such a breaking. What she watched, horrified and paralyzed, was something far worse than the nightmares of a victim. It started with muttering, incoherent words slurring from non-responsive lips. Then came the whimpers, fearful sounds and guttural groans. Tears formed in his closed eyes and streaked down his cheeks. Piteous moans stole the air from his lungs. His body began to twitch, to shudder. It all came to a head when he suddenly burst into life, leaping from the chair with a silent, drowned cry of a name.

The next morning she did not mention it, though she was certain her observation had not gone unnoticed. No explanation was offered either, nor did she expect to receive one. Grace was not sure she wanted an explanation. The kind of horrors that shaped a man like Louk Shannegh...

They were both broken beings, the two of them. As much as she wished it were otherwise, the truth of the matter was that they did not belong together. Fate said otherwise, and Grace did not have the heart to remain at his side, not like this. Her work for him would continue. There was no sense in abandoning a simple job such as that. But she could not warm his bed, not when there was another who so desperately desired it.

Word had reached her that he had returned unexpectedly to the White Citadel. Her stomach did little flips at the thought of seeing him again so soon. It was a conversation she wished to avoid, but knew had to be done. Grace Campbell was not a coward, and she would tell him why before she left.

Her eyes drifted over to the bottle on the dresser. A good drink would fortify her courage, but she did not dare to get up from the bed. Alcohol and headaches did not pair well, and the threat of facing Louk Shannegh made her heart shrivel in her chest. Would he be disappointed? Would he ask her to stay? If he did, Grace doubted she could deny him. She doubted she had the strength to deny him anything.

Lost in her thoughts, Grace closed her eyes and drifted off into the pleasant haze between wakefulness and sleep.

The door creaked open, and her eyes snapped wide open again.

Louk Shannegh slipped into the room, as silent as death itself. He looked a sorry sight, covered in old blood and battered. There was a hollowness in his gaze she had seen once before, the evening of his nightmare.

"You're back" she breathed, stumbling to her feet to greet him. "Gods, what happ-"

His lips crushed into hers, body pushing her back against the bed. Rough hands wrapped around her, clutching her so tight her ribs ached. She gripped his arms reflexively, clinging to him to keep her footing.

When he pulled back, her lips hurt from the force of contact. A breathless gasp expunged itself from her chest, and she stammered for words, stunned by his aggressiveness.

"I need you" he growled, and there was no mistaking it for a question. Her eyes widened at his commanding tone, even as her head nodded instinctively in obedience. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Louk filled the silence with another fierce, mind-numbing kiss. His touch burned like hot coals, scorching her mind of rational thought. Before she realized it her fingers had found his hair, and she held him so close neither could breathe. Gods, he swept her sanity away so easily. Those damned fingers roamed fiercely over her clothed form, squeezing and groping as he worked her skirt up to her waist.

Understanding his intentions, Grace reluctantly pushed him back and fumbled with the strings of her bodice. A savage sound rolled out of his lips, and Louk Shannegh gripped the front of her dress with both hands. She yelped, fright locking her still when he ripped her dress open, tearing the fine fabric without a hint of regret.

"Now" he snarled.

She paled, but hurriedly shoved her clothes down to her feet. This was a different side of him, the side she had seen when he rescued her from Morgan. The animal he so desperately tried to cage. It terrified her, filled her belly with apprehension, but as fearsome as he was, she knew he would hurt her.

Louk Shannegh's patience lasted only as long as it took him to throw his own clothes off. Then, with an animalistic grunt, he picked Grace up and dropped her onto the bed. A single squeak of surprise managed to escape before he descended on her, and any attempt at rational thought fled under the weight of his ferocious hunger.

 **-v-**

It hadn't been like the first time. Her first amorous encounter with Louk Shannegh had been wonderful, breathtaking, and gentle. Louk Shannegh had explored her body, discovered all of her secrets, pleasured her in ways she had forgotten existed, and even taught her new tricks that left her drooling for more. At the end of it she had collapsed, fainted nearly, in his arms, snuggling against his heated body. He had radiated safety then.

This had been the opposite.

Her thighs still trembled, ravaged body slowly processing what he had done to it. Chin resting on his broad shoulder, Grace left her eyes closed and concentrated on her breathing, struggling to calm her hammering heart, still amazed that it had not given out on her. The first time they had made love. This time it was raw, unadulterated rutting.

Lying bonelessly on his lap, her legs locked against his hips, Grace recollected her consciousness and tried to remember just what it was he had done that had her… she would have blushed had she the strength… gushing furiously for what felt like a tortuous length of time. There had been no rest, no respite. He had fucked her half-senseless.

Even now, resting against the pillows, one hand tucked behind his back as he gazed stone-faced up at the ceiling, his free hand continued to play across her naked back. Skilled fingers traced her spine, applying just the right amount of pressure to elicit an shiver that set hips quivering. She gasped softly, and prayed to every God she believed in that he was done for the night. She would not survive another round of Louk Shannegh's rutting.

Her body was going to be so damn sore in the morning.

"I don't know what happened" Grace murmured, pulling her head back just enough to settle her lips against his skin. Her soft, feathery kisses led to his throat, and Louk Shannegh replied by guiding his wandering hand lower to cup her bottom and give an appreciative squeeze. "I prayed for your safety."

"It isn't my safety that matters" he replied tonelessly, sounding a thousand miles away.

Content with his answer, and certain he would not give her more, Grace nestled in his lap. He was not the most comfortable pillow. At this point she was too tired to care. She could have slept on boiling rocks and not noticed her discomfort.

"I hurt you" he said absently.

Grace did not answer. The truth of it was that he had manhandled her like a doll, and surely in the morning she would have a host of aches and pains. And it would be a lie to say she had not adored every moment of it.

"I've been through worse" she whispered.

Those memories crept into the edges of her vision. Pain, terror, agony. Large shapes smothering her, surrounding her and the others. Dirty paws clawing at her body. Her breath caught in her throat. Biting her tongue to hold back the tears, she hid her face under his chin and listened to the steady beating of his heart.

Strong fingers caressed the back of her neck, a gentle massage that eased the rising tension from her body. Strange words dripped from his lips, spoken in a language she could not comprehend. They were soothing to listen to, soft and musical, and entirely not the sort of thing she expected from a man like Louk Shannegh. The words calmed her thoughts, pushed the memories away. But they could not erase the truth of it.

"Why me" she asked him, unable to see more than his broad chest.

The man remained silent for a while. His touch vanished from her neck, only to reappear as he scooped up one of her hands and pressed it against his chest. Grace studied the difference between them; his hands dwarfed hers to the point she may as well have been a child in his arms.

"You came to me" he reminded her at last.

"Yes" her lips pursed in a grimace. "But, you… we… stayed. You let me share your bed. You let me stay with you."

This time, his silence spoke volumes. Grace felt the tightness building in her chest. The welling emotion inside her were wild, erratic. Shame, joy, jealousy, they all fought inside her. The selfish part of her wanted to steal him away, to burrow in Louk Shannegh's arms and lose herself. It took conscious thought to push those desires aside.

"I am not a clean woman" Grace admitted, when the silence became unbearable.

"I knew you weren't a virgin" he replied.

"No, it isn't that." Her eyes closed, furiously pressing them together to prevent the tears that were rising on their own accord. Her chest hurt from the surging feelings at war inside her. "There's something I didn't tell you."

"Mournival" he stated.

"The demons captured me" she said. A whimper built in her throat but she choked it down. Her skin crawled at the admission. There was a stigma surrounding the despoiled; women abused by the demons rarely survived it, and those that did were pitied and often died alone and in squalor. Nobody wanted anything to do with the hapless victims. Too often, their minds were ravaged beyond repair. And no one would touch a body that had been desecrated by those monsters.

"I know" came the soft, quiet voice.

"You couldn't have known" she insisted. Wriggling free of his grasp, she pulled level with his face, desperate to see his eyes. To watch the expected disgust crawling in his expression when he realized the woman he had laid with was spoiled. She hated herself for needing to see it. The thought of that disgust broke her heart, and but she knew it was perhaps the only way she could pull away from him. Grace knew she did not have the will to do it herself. "They raped me, Louk. For days. They took my body and they… they-"

He did not let her finish her confession. Pushing off the pillow, Louk slipped a hand behind her head and pulled her close. Her voice was silenced by a kiss, a deep and wonderful kiss. Panic bubbled in her mind at his advance. He wasn't supposed to do that. He was supposed to push her away. To spit on her and order her out.

Why couldn't he act like a human?

A thumb brushed her face, wiping away the tear trickling down her cheek. Louk's eyes held her captive, his dark orbs gleaming hypnotically. She forgot how to breathe, and pressed anxiously for another kiss. She needed that touch. Gods, she craved the taste of his lips. The thickness of his tongue playing with hers. She could spend an eternity wrapped up in his arms and she would never grow tired of it.

"You are not dirty" he told her. As if to emphasize his point he tucked his feet in and rose to his knees, holding her tight to his chest as she frantically wrapped her legs around his muscular waist. A familiar weight pressed against her bottom, growing harder by the second as he nibbled on her neck and shifted her weight in his arms. "Those monsters did not ruin you, Grace. Only you have the power to decide if you are clean or not. And you're a damn sight cleaner than most."

He wasn't talking about her body, she realized. Her vision blurred, happy tears spilling free. A great weight dropped away, sucking the heaviness from her belly, and Grace cursed Louk Shannegh for being the way he was. For being a good man.

"I could love you" she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "Gods strike me, but I could."

Easing her onto the bed with the care of a father setting his newborn to sleep, Louk Shannegh turned her words into soft gasps. His fingers prodded and probed, expertly seeking those places he had discovered that drew the most from her. Grace opened her legs, one hand reaching down to catch him and guide him where she needed him to go. Gods curse her, but she could not do it. She could not resist him.

All she could do was moan his name as he took her again, and assured her that there was not a single thing about her that he thought was unclean.


	26. Fallen Down

**A/N** Apologies for the long delay here. I didn't like this chapter at all, and after months of staring at it and working on it, decided the best thing to do is get it out there and be done with it. it isn't bad, it is just one of those scenes where I couldn't figure out how to translate it from my mental picture into writing.

 **Reviewers** -

 **Dragonheart51** \- Louk Shannegh would have no idea what the Mournival is/was. He doesn't have 21st century meta-knowledge of the Imperium's past.  
 **ManwithaPlan113** \- Death Korps as individuals would be incredibly hard to write well, but the concept of Death Korps vs medieval would be highly entertaining to read.  
 **Disciple of Ember** \- Louk is certainly reeling and 100% on the back foot at the moment. How Eostia responds to this, and how they could possibly recover, is going to take an extreme amount of luck and skill. But Louk has the best luck, right?  
 **Ekurman** \- Glad people like it enough to be pumped for updates. Work/life has kept me running at breakneck speed for about three months now, so I have maybe one day a week I can sit down and concentrate on trying to write, but even then I rarely have enough time to get much done.  
 **Danteinfernus** \- Yea boi!  
 **DarkQueenOriga** \- The answer to your worries is: Lots  
 **Ronmr** \- Clearly a happy ending...?  
 **EnriksD8** \- Not familiar with Ocean Man, but I'll look it up. Virtuoso is definitely a hard adversary to pin down. It is going to take much more than your average daemon-slaying to put him out.  
 **Guest** \- I mean, it can't ALL be doom and gloom.  
 **Guest 2** \- Well, technically you don't know. Her soul is certainly screwed, if that answers your question.  
Abdiel Amaro - Believe it or not, in the Imperium of Man people do indeed have sex and make babies. Lol. One of the hard parts of writing an author-favorite character is avoiding putting him into too many tropes. I want him to be a hardcore badass, but I also don't want him to come across as a Mary Sue. And in that sense, Louk avoids it by the very simple phrase he told Olga early in the story. "Immortality does not equal invincibility." He loses, and there are very real consequences to that.  
 **V** \- It is definitely a touchy subject, but also sort of necessary considering the original setting. I'm certainly trying to avoid treating it too lightly, as it is a horrible thing.  
 **SomeGuyOverHere** \- I can assure you for now the perspective will be completely limited to Louk's "side" of the fight, but there will be more back and forth with POV. As for Louk and the dark elves, there is a bit of explanation here. Part of the reasoning behind me writing this awkward love triangle (besides the expected hero with a harem that is a given in these sorts of stories) is the fact that the women he runs into a generally traumatized. Intentionally or not, he meets them all as a savior-figure.  
 **Bruce USSR** \- Did you just say you need to purge a heretic by bringing in a bigger heretic? #Fallenarethetrueloyalists  
 **Guest 3** \- Surprisingly, evil man has a twisted perspective.

* * *

The heat of his body lingered on his pillow. Grace clung to it, buried her nose in the comforting smell of his sweat. Focused on that small and insignificant facet. Pushed out the aching in her thighs, the exhausted complaints of her muscles, and the cramping pains in her belly. Every nerve in her body either groaned in sympathetic agony or hummed with overwhelming satisfaction. It was so much worse than a bad hangover. But it was so much better than she had ever felt.

Her lover stood just a few feet away, clothed from the waist down. Louk had gotten up not long ago, washed himself, and begun the arduous process of sifting through her compiled reports. With his back to her she could not read his expression. He was too quiet a man to mutter or comment on her work. Content to merely watch him move, Grace hugged his pillow tightly and savored the silence of the morning.

It wasn't supposed to have gone like this. He was supposed to enter the room, Grace would have said her piece and excused herself. A simple apology, then moving to the next room over. Simple, uneventful. Easy. Instead Grace woke up to the bed shifting as he climbed out of it, her body complaining of the sudden onset of chill air as his arm slipped out from around her waist.

The sun was just rising. Sunlight trickled in through the windows, painting delicate beams of light across the room. A servant would be by soon with the daily invitation to attend the Goddess' morning repast. It was one Grace had joined a few times. She still felt dreadfully out of place in the presence of the Goddess Reborn and other powerful figures. Once, it had been natural to her. She pushed those memories away. Dwelling on the past only brought heartache.

Louk Shannegh finished picking through her reports and took a step back from the desk. Her eyes devoured his bare back, admiring the powerful sculpture of his muscles, the dangerous implications of his frame. Shutting her eyes before he turned, she steadied her breathing and pretended to sleep. If he saw her right now he would give her those mesmerizing eyes, and she would be helpless to even think about excusing herself again.

The shadow of his body spilled over her, darkening her eyelids. A moment passed of utter stillness. Biting her tongue to hold in a smile, Grace imagined him standing over her, studying her with that dark and brooding intensity. Then his breath tickled her ear and an involuntary shiver swept up her spine.

"You snore when you are sleeping" he murmured.

"I do not" she replied indignantly, peeking an eye accusingly at him.

"No, but you certainly don't change your breathing patterns so suddenly." Louk dipped his head even lower and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. "I am sorry."

"For what?"

"Hurting you."

He placed a hand on her hip. The urge to flinch nearly overpowered her, and Grace took a sharp breath as even that slight touch sent peals of irritation through her legs. The man sensed her pain. Of course he could. Grace wondered if there was anything he could not see, could not understand. The grimace that stole across his face showed apology and embarrassment.

"This is nothing" she whispered, catching his hand and bringing it to her lips. Taking a deep breath, Grace relished the heat of his skin. It was unlike anything she had felt before. Louk Shannegh's body was unusually hot, like a secret furnace burned in his soul. It was a wonderful thing to be close to on an autumn morning.

"Thank you for your work."

"I am happy to help."

Easing up to a sitting position, Grace stretched her upper body slowly, luxuriating in the sensation of draining tension. It would be a few days before this stiffness went away. For now she counted each ache and pain, each strained muscle, and considered what wonderful things he had done to bring that delicious soreness. Her hand found his shoulder, and Grace remembered belatedly that she was naked. She looked, and found Louk's hungry gaze travelling unashamedly across her skin.

"Have you no shame" she asked. The selfish part of her loved his attention, relished each moment of lecherous intent she drew from the man. But it also brought shame, and reality came crashing back around her as, once again, Louk Shannegh's spell broke and Grace remembered her intent from the night before.

Gods, Olga would not forgive her if she found out.

Stricken with sudden modesty, Grace drew the sheets up to cover her body and pushed him away. She lacked the strength to do it; they both knew it. Regardless, he obliged and honored her request. Sliding back to his feet, he strode over to the dresser and picked a clean shirt out. A soft grunt of appreciation told Grace that her work met his approval.

Clutching the sheets close around her, Grace piled the pillows until she could lean against them, resting her sore back on the little pyramid while she considered what to do next. These sorts of conversations were so much easier in one's head. She could guess what he would say, have excellent counter points, and he would naturally agree with her that it was all for the best. And, of course, her throat wouldn't seize and her heart would not pound its way through her ribs.

If she tried to persuade him now, what would he do? Would he gaze at her with those dark eyes that made her so powerless? Would her tongue betray her, and would she clamber back into his arms and indulge her selfish passions?

Grace took a series of short, deep breaths.

"She loves you."

Three simple words, yet they stabbed deep into her soul like a sword wound. His too, judging by the sudden tension that shot through his back, the stillness that swept over his body as he stood facing away from her. Louk Shannegh said nothing for an agonizingly long stretch. Grace did not say anything either, too afraid of his next words.

She hated herself.

Slowly, with a measured speed that terrified her anxious mind, Louk drew the shirt over his head. His silence clawed at her nerves, an unstoppable itch under her nails.

"Louk, I meant to…"

"I know."

Her lover set his hands on the dresser and exhaled slowly. Uncertain what he meant by that, Grace waited for an explanation. She had expected him to be confused, surprised, angry even. There had been a time Grace had been a master at reading others. Louk Shannegh was a mystery, one that she resigned herself to never fully understanding. He was far too complex a man for that.

"Do you even know who I am-"

"Olga" he interrupted, sounding far too certain for it to be a guess. "I've known it since I brought you to Ken."

"But you…" her heart quickened at his admission. He had known? But he still came to her, still chose her over Olga. Her poor heart did not know what to make of that. She hated that he was so… unnatural. Any rational being would have balanced the scales between a poor traumatized dark elf and a royal sorceress and reached the same conclusion. Any rational being but Louk Shannegh.

"Olga wants something that doesn't exist" Louk explained, his voice as calm and emotionless as she had ever heard it to be. He turned back from the dresser and let his gaze cross over Grace without settling on her. A decidedly familiar twitching plagued his fingers, restlessly seeking something to occupy them. The man settled with running a hand through his hair. "She sees me as her savior, someone who can wash away her sins and redeem her. That is not what I am."

"You did save her though" Grace insisted. "I've heard the story from Celeste herself."

"You heard what they all want to hear."

He buckled his scabbard and slid the other thing he carried onto the opposite hip. She did not know what it was. But she knew it was a weapon.

"I brought Olga back alive because that was my job. There was no grander plan. There is no romantic notion behind my bringing her out of Garan. She looks at me and sees something that isn't there."

"What about me?" Grace tested her legs by tucking them up against her chest. Even that effort sent aches shooting across her lower body. "What do I see when I look at you?"

"Someone who can comfort you at night. Keep you warm." His jacket slid easily over his shoulders. With his ensemble complete, the dashing adventurer spirit truly came out. Yet Grace was certain this was a side of him that few others saw. He was not smiling, but he did not appear quite as dour as he often had.

"I don't deserve you" Grace murmured. "When she… I can't do this to her. I am going to move into the room with Anna."

"Understandable."

Again with the damned understanding. Grace braced herself, fighting against the warmth that threatened to trickle through her veins as he calmly accepted her ultimatum. If he had fought against it, told her no, she could have been angry with him. An argument would have made this easier. Even a look of disappointment.

Instead Louk Shannegh sat down on the foot of the bed, turned sideways from her, and rested his elbows on his knees.

"She's been doing well, then?"

"Don't change the subject" Grace admonished. "I need to move out, Louk. I can't remain in your bed. Even if you have no feelings for Olga, I cannot take that hope away from her. She has lost so much."

"You don't have to explain yourself."

"She is my sister!"

That surprised him. Heavens save her, but she brought a look of shock flickering across his grim expression. Louk gazed at the floorboards, his attention lost in his thoughts. Finally, he grunted. "Probably for the better, anyways."

"What do you mean?"

It was foolish to ask. Asking meant more time speaking with him. More time speaking meant more of a chance her courage would fail her.

"Women I come close to… they suffer. Better that you distance yourself before anything could happen to you."

"Women… what does that mean?" Damn it, her curiosity was piqued. Grace leaned forward, eyeing him fiercely, wondering why he refused to look at her. One hand reached out hesitantly and touched his shoulder. "Louk, what happened?"

"What hasn't happened" he asked back, the question hanging like an overcast cloud. "I won't bore you with the details, Grace, but I can assure you, it's better for you if you keep away. What I did to you last night, that is inexcusable. It should not have happened. You'll be safer with Anna than with me."

"Safer?" She leaned over to try and force eye contact. The man was a master at avoiding her without seeming to make effort of it.

"Bad things happen to people that get close to me." Rising unexpectedly, Louk offered his hand. "Come on, let's get you dressed."

Grace accepted his offer, and his refusal to speak more on the matter. She leaned heavily against him, using his sturdy body to anchor herself as her legs made their complaints known. Grateful for his closeness, she held onto him for a moment longer than she should have. Eyes locked with his, Grace found herself frozen, unable to move.

"I… I should get dressed" she murmured, her voice catching in her throat.

"Yes" Louk agreed. He made no move to hold her. In fact, his hands remained safely at his side. Hands she hated for wishing they were wrapped around her.

"Can I," she was trembling again, shaking. She knew she should step away, gather her things, and leave. "Can I kiss you, one more time?"

Louk's expression was unreadable, but he nodded slightly and leaned in to her. Grace surged up to meet him, relishing the heat of his mouth as she surrendered one last time to the intoxicating touch of Louk Shannegh. This would be it, she told herself. Once she stepped out, she would not come back to him.

A heavy fist knocked against the door, then the hinges creaked as one of the White Guard stepped inside.

"You've got a- oh."

Grace's eyes snapped open in horror, hearing the unfamiliar voice and knowing instantly who stood behind it. She froze, wide-eyed and shocked, gazing around Louk's shoulder. Past the young White Guard flushed red with embarrassment. Directly into the eyes of Olga Discordia.

For the briefest flicker, the Dark Queen's composure cracked.

Fury and rage shattered her listless frown, a roiling storm of the purest hatred that could shatter mountains and devastate a country. Olga Discordia's amber eyes glowed as molten gold, the air around her shimmered with darkly radiant energy. Grace saw the wrath of a scorned god pooling over the dark elf queen's shoulders.

Abruptly, the darkness dissipated, and an emotion far more powerful and stunning crept into Olga's ordinarily peerless visage.

Anguish.

The Dark Queen turned on her heel and disappeared, faster than Grace's dumbfounded brain could possibly hope to find something to say.

"Apologies, sir. I hadn't thought that-"

Louk pulled Grace gently behind him. Though she could not see his face, she saw the soldier's face pale, listened to his speech trail off into panicked mumbling.

"Out."

The soldiers slammed the door in their haste to escape. Grace stared at it for a moment, struggling to make sense of the frantic flurry of events. She reached out as if to open it again, half-wondering if Olga would be on the other side.

Then it struck her. And an overwhelming nausea flooded her belly.

"What have I done" she whispered.

 **-v-**

It was turning out to be a damned morning.

Stepping into the hallway, Louk allowed the door to close softly behind him. His teeth itched with irritation as the White Guards further down the hall stiffened at his appearance. For a breathless moment the surge of scalding fury tickled at his thoughts, blood-slicked memories sliding down his tongue at the thought of their fresh-beating hearts. His stomach threatened to growl, hungering for the stringy meat of raw flesh.

An imperceptible shudder trailed across his form. Banshing the tempting thoughts, he stalked down the hall, away from them. The urges were growing stronger. The need was clawing its way free of his mental prison. Soon it would have to feed. He would have to feed.

No.

His teeth scored deeply into his tongue, opening veins and numbing the hunger with sickeningly sweet vitae. It would not do for long, but it would hold the hunger at bay. For now. Never for good. It always came back. It was a part of him now. Who he was. What he had become. The essence of a dead… for all intents, god… melded with his soul, poisoning his existence. The hunger was the worst of it. It tore down his defenses, chipped at his sanity, released passions and furies that he could neither control nor subdue.

Last night had been a mistake. This morning had been a mistake. Everything he had done in the past few days… nothing had gone as it should have.

How to kill something that was not tied to one body? Louk was uncertain of what level of attachment the daemon needed to jump between hosts, but he knew that there were at least several, if not many, more potentials. It was not a simple matter of beating the daemon anymore. He had to pin it down, trap it and eliminate it. But Virtuoso was toying with him. Killing Vult had only been allowed so that it could show its power. The duel had been a test, an entertainment. Mocking him.

That, in and of itself, did not present an insurmountable challenge. Louk had fought many creatures that could defeat him, kill him even. He had tasted death more times than he cared to count. Each as bitter and painful as the one before it, but sufferable for the fact he knew it would not be the end.

This was different. He did not belong in this world. A world that obeyed its own laws of reality. A world untouched by the widespread corruption of the Immaterium. If he lost here, there might be no way to come back from it. The thought of being trapped in a world ruled by daemonkind unsettled him.

Almost as much as the door he approached unsettled him. Olga's door. The Dark Queen of Garan, a creature frustratingly familiar yet so utterly alien. She was a distraction. They were all distractions. It could have been avoided, ignored.

Until he forced Grace to his bed. Tarried in the room, toyed with the idea of staying by her side, abandoning his responsibilities for even a single day. Took away her ability to choose.

It wasn't her fault, and he knew that. He hated that. He had lied to her. Louk knew what Grace saw in him. The same thing Olga saw. A man that could take a broken thing and make it whole again. That was not why he was here. Louk was a breaker, a destroyer. The rare times he had attempted to produce, to give back…

A tingling caressed the base of his spine, the ghost of a wound hundreds of years, and several bodies, old. That scar was his curse, his reminder. His warning that it could never be.

Of course, the more immediate reminder was the universe's clockwork timing. Which was why he now stood outside Olga Discordia's room, staring at the faceless wooden door and debating whether or not this was even worth it. Virtuoso was not waiting for Louk to make a move. It was out there, plotting. Every moment in the White Tower was a moment wasted. But he needed their knowledge. He needed allies.

So he knocked, and waited through the inevitable silence. It would be prying to focus his thoughts, strain his hearing through the portal. Her scent still lingered in the hall. Distress tasted bitter. As salty as the tears the dark elf queen held back in her retreat to the safety of her room.

"Olga." he knocked one more time. He would not again. If the woman needed to mourn something that had never been hers to begin with, it was not his place to disrupt that. This was due diligence, nothing more.

That was what he told himself.

The treacherous whisper in his mind asked if he truly cared. He did not. Could not. Even if he did, he could not afford it.

Before he considered the appropriate time to have passed, the door creaked open just far enough to reveal a somber half-face. He gazed into the Dark Queen's hypnotic amber eye, amazed to see it clear, and her expression cool and listless as it always was.

"Reaper" she whispered. The door did not open further. It revealed just enough, in his mind, to give the appearance of strength without revealing how she likely had her other hand curled into a fist, nails biting her fair skin to hold back the turbulent emotions inside her.

"You came to my room. Did you have a question for me?" There was no point in pursuing it. Louk had too much respect for her. Instead he focused on the present. There had been a point to her appearance.

"It was not important." She blinked languidly, cat-like, giving nothing away. "I was curious if you would be attending the funeral service Celeste is holding for Prim and Alicia. My thought was to share the morning meal, then attend in a statement of solidarity to my… to the Goddess."

"I see."

"It does not matter now" Olga announced, her words conveying the slightest hint of struggle to come out. "I see you have Grace to accompany you. Will I see you at the service?"

There it was. The briefest spark buried deep in her eyes, the hidden pain that laced the name of her fellow dark elf. He chose to not mention it. Pouring salt into a wound served no purpose.

"I had planned on going north" he told her. "Thorn has been silent. Luu-Luu had a messenger waiting for me. She would like to accompany me to Kaguya and see if something ails the region."

"North…" Olga's eye closed for a moment, thinking. "Then I am sorry we could not spend more time together. I wish you a fair journey, Reaper."

Even with the hurt swimming behind her words, Louk sensed her disappointment that he was leaving so quickly. It stabbed deep inside him, twisting like a knife. The realization was so rough and unexpected he had not realized he had spoken.

"I haven't eaten yet, if you would still like to go."

A depreciating smirk spilled across the Dark Queen's lips, if only for a moment. "No, my appetite is not as fierce as I had thought. You should go; Celeste would benefit from your presence. Should you need a companion, I am sure Grace would be more than willing to oblige."

His response was rising in his throat when a shrill cry rose pierced the hallway. It was a cry of pain, surprise, confusion. Louk had _Durendal_ half-drawn before he finished turning, eyes sweeping the passage in the beat of his heart.

"Grace" he breathed, recognizing her voice. Abandoning his conversation with Olga, he rushed down the hallway, releasing _Durendal_ from its scabbard as he passed his own room. The next door stood open, Anna's room. The dark elf's frantic sobbing spilled out to greet him.

The dark elf lay draped over the still body of her high elf friend. Louk entered the room slowly, eyeing the interior, checking for signs of struggle. His urgency faded with each step as he advanced, seeing no signs of struggle. There was only one possible answer to what had happened.

Stepping up to the side of the bed, he peered past Grace's weeping body and examined Anna's corpse. Her porcelain skin had faded to a ghostly white, eyes dulled to a pale blue. Grace held her close, cradling the elf's head against her shoulder. The sounds coming from the dark elf's throat set Louk's teeth on edge. It never grew less horrifying, the sound of primal, animalistic loss.

He touched Grace's shoulder, and leaned gently pried her off of Anna's corpse. Grace collapsed in his arms, her tears hysterical. There was no need for his sword; he eased it back into its scabbard and held Grace.

The source of it was obvious enough. Purple bruising around Anna's throat. Thicker than a rope or garotte, but too thin for a man's hands. He sniffed the air, searching for faded scents. Something lingered here, teased at the edge of his recognition. An earthy, mortal smell. No daemonic trickery about.

Who would have killed Anna? His mind started spinning, gears clicking into motion as he considered her death. Relegating his hold on Grace to the back of his mind, he rubbed her back and let her weep. Anna held no strategic value. He certainly had no attachment to the woman, nor was Grace important enough to seek damage to. In no way could he justify considering this a ploy by a true foe. This had been something else, something more intimate and personal. Covering the movement by rocking Grace softly side to side, he shuffled to the foot of the bed and tossed the sheet aside.

That explained it. The bed was still wet under her legs. The faint stench of urine and secretions. Only Anna's though. Nothing to identify her attacker as male. Skin still bruised on her thighs and between her hips. Grace did not need to see that. He eased the sheets back over the still body. Who did it, and why now?

Another presence entered the room. Louk caught the near-silent footfalls and chose to not turn back. He knew who it was. Though he was surprised she had come.

"Grace…" Olga whispered, coming up to stand beside them. Her face remained neutral, but Louk sensed the pain in the Dark Queen's single word. Slim hands cut between Louk and Grace, and she gently pulled the weeping dark elf into her own arms. A keening wail rose as Grace hugged her estranged kin tightly. Olga gazed down at the body, struggling to maintain her impassive expression. For a haunting moment, those amber eyes flicked up to Louk and revealed the righteous anger of a woman who knew this sort of death far too well. "Find who did this."

It did not have to be said. But Louk nodded and hurried out of the room. The two White Guard whose duty shift it was had clustered around the door. They retreated as he entered the passage.

"Who visited Anna" Louk demanded, fixing them with deadly intent.

The guard glanced at each other. One shrugged and offered a glare. Louk recognized him. One of the White Guard that wore his hatred for Olga Discordia on his sleeve like a badge of honor. Not a fan of Louk, either. As far as he knew, the White Guard were not fans of the man who was sworn to protect the Dark Queen. That malingering had grown with time. One more problem to stamp out to win this war.

"Visitors? This floor doesn't get visitors. That's w-"

Louk's kick caught the man just above the knee. Bones snapped audibly as the man went down, his leg bent at the opposite angle it should have. A hoarse scream trickled out of his mouth, and the man flailed on the ground.

The second one was too willing to speak after that.

"We saw Lady Maia leave just a little while ago. Never saw her arrive, so she must have come in before our shift started." The second guard shook with barely restrained terror as Louk stepped closer, one finger lifting to hover in front of the man's eye.

Maia. He had known the signs, and hoped the Shield had more strength to resist it. Cursing himself as a fool, Louk grabbed the still-standing guard by his collar and threw him to the ground beside the first.

"How long ago?"

"Less than an hour" the man whimpered. "She looked ill, and was in a hurry. I swear I don't know anything else!"

"One of the Goddess' guests was murdered on your watch." Louk stared at them both. "I should execute you both for that."

An hour. More than enough time for Maia to escape. If the poison had worked its way through her soul, that is what she would be doing. Escaping, fleeing to join Virtuoso. With that much of a head start, he would never be able to catch her running down the stairs. Louk breathed in deep, braced himself, and took off away from the stairwell.

The door to the balcony barely slowed him down as he shouldered through it. A thin railing rushed to greet him; Louk hurdled the marble obstacle and let the wind take him. The guest floor sat over twenty levels high over the city of Ken. Falling for that distance did a number on the unprepared. Louk was not. The air bit at his body as he plummeted to the courtyard below.

Louk swore. It was going to-

 **…**

Chloe saw the shadow just seconds before it landed. Retreating into the safety of the stable, the young half-elf clutched at her daggers even as Louk Shannegh's body struck the ground with a horrific crunch of shattering bones. Her eyes widened in shock, speechless amidst a crowd of confused shouts. White Guard came running, noblemen shrieked. The courtyard fell into instant chaos as it reacted to the sudden event.

Hiding just inside the stable, Chloe swallowed and considered running out to check on the man. She had seen him die once before. Found him dead another time. She did not understand it, but the man could not stay dead. Her own blade had not completed the job. So while every muscle in her body tensed to rush out and check on the man tasked with protecting her beloved mistress, she held back. If he got back up, she did not want to be seen. Not by him. Not with what she was planning to do.

Louk had told her what she already knew. Sir John Mandeville had to die. The simple reminder from a man such as him had firmed it in her heart, convinced her she had the courage to see it through. If he knew, though, she doubted he would let her go off on her own. His owns words betrayed his likely course of action. Louk Shannegh would have insisted on accompanying her. Killing John Mandeville was something that had to be done on her own. Chloe needed to see it through, needed to know that she had the strength to do it.

Sure enough, within seconds of crashing into the paved stones, Louk Shannegh began began to awkwardly pick himself up. His previous 'deaths,' if Chloe could even call them that, had not been so damaging as this one. Before her very eyes, and the eyes of the stunned courtyard, his bones slid back into his limbs, blood pooled back into his veins. The man rose to his feet only slightly off balance, his face a stone mask of patient suffering.

"Where's Maia" the Reaper demanded, his voice gravelly and filled with blood.

The question seemed so innocent, to utterly unnecessary to the spectacle he had arrived with.

And with almost prescient timing, the woman he sought appeared out of the gatehouse. Chloe turned to inspect the Shield, her confusion mounting with each passing moment. That delayed shock was why it took her a moment longer than the rest of the courtyard to realize that Maia the Shield of Ansur… had something very wrong with her.

Maia's face was waxy and drenched in sweat. Her whole body heaved with each breath. Blood coated her arms and boots. A frantic, panicked gleam flickered in her eyes as she stared at the forbidding figure of Louk Shannegh.

"Maia." Louk drew both of his weapons. The sword… and the device she had seen him use only twice before. As much as Chloe feared his ability with the sword, it was the latter weapon that froze the blood in her veins.

For an agonizingly long moment, no one in the courtyard moved. Guards, nobles, commoners all gazed at the two, at a loss for what to do or say. Even Chloe felt her limbs seize within her. If this was a fight, she needed to be by Louk Shannegh's side. That was her mistress' orders. She willed herself to leave the cover of the stable, but crippling dread buffeted her in place.

A bolt of red shot out from Louk Shannegh's outstretched hand. The sizzling snap echoed in Chloe's ears. Maia threw herself to the side, ducking under the bolt. Rolling up to her feet, Maia started running for the gate. Louk charged after her, moving with inhuman swiftness, closing the gap. Chloe's legs burned with the effort of trying to move, to join him.

What madness had overtaken them?

With an ominous clang, the portcullis of the White Gate descended, spilling down too quickly to have been a controlled release. Maia slid under the steel bars, narrowly escaping to the other side. Scrambling like an animal, she scurried away and disappeared into the streets of Ken.

Louk Shannegh lifted his sword as if to strike the gate. He slowed, his boots skidding across stone as his momentum bled itself dry. Smacking the flat of his blade against the portcullis, the Reaper put the other weapon away and turned back to the courtyard.

Finally, Chloe's limbs freed themselves. Rushing out from the stable, she hurried to his side, ignoring the murmuring crowd that gathered around. A pair of White Guards rushed into the gatehouse, returning moments later announcing the guards inside had been slain.

"Reaper" Chloe called out, drawing his attention. The expression the man wore reminded her of just before he threw open the doors to Olga Discordia's throne room. There was a savage, inhumane fury boiling in his soul. The heat of it made her weak, and had Chloe desperately wishing she had remained in the stable. "What, what happened?"

He did not answer. Stalking past her, Louk Shannegh climbed the stairs to the rampart, took a look over the city of Ken, and leapt down into the streets below.

Chloe stared at the empty space he had left, and tried to imagine just what sort of monster Louk Shannegh truly was.


	27. Princess of Sacrifice

**A/N:** I'm back! After several months of silence, the story continues on. I was sidetracked by many, many things, including no less than four different tabletop game systems running overlapping campaigns/leagues/tournaments at my local store, as well as an unnamed Switch game about houses identified by primary colors. That game absolutely sidetracked me, to the point I nearly gave into temptation and started a new story, which would have derailed every work-in-progress that I have. Not to mention I challenged myself to start writing an original story, light-novel style in July. Wrote about 70k words in a month for it.

Bleh, all play and no work makes author a very distracted person (I lied, there was plenty of work too).

 **Reviewers**

 **Dragonheart51 –** It was only a matter of time… Sucks for her though.  
 **DarkQueenOriga –** Not bringing in the sequel… yet. The body count is absolutely barbaric. But don't worry. There is a light at the end of the tunnel.  
 **ManWithAPlan113 –** Respawn? If only it was that easy. Chaos is not so easily rooted out of its victims.  
 **Guest –** To be fair, if one of the seven heroes of the land is in the hallway, I would think it safe to assume that she isn't doing anything suspicious. As for dark souls, meh. Don't dirty my precious character with unimaginative comparisons. My character is clearly a unique and utterly original tragic anti-hero with a dark past who has a secret heart of gold that needs a beautiful and caring woman to… lol.  
 **Ekurman –** Sorry it's taking so long. Summers get real busy where I live.  
 **Abdiel Amaro –** He needs to carry a sign that says "hands off the merchandise."  
 **Disciple of Ember –** Immortality isn't fun if you keep losing. It is safe to say that Louk is in a very precarious spot, and his list of allies is growing very short (cough cough, spoilers). The night is long and full of horrors, but eventually dawn may rise.  
 **Guest 2 –** Depending on how the corruption takes root. Those forcibly corrupted often show signs of regret in the lore, even though they lack the power to battle the darkness.  
 **Guest 3 –** Back at the battle of the pass. She got stabbed. There's a whole section about it.  
 **SomeGuyOverHere –** I refuse to acknowledge that the move was Deadpool-inspired. Definitely wasn't. Nope. Nooooooooooope. For all of Louk's ability and power, he has always, and will always, be the underdog. His origin story is nothing but him getting his stuffing kicked. It's the worst part of being immortal.  
 **EnriksD8 –** I'm gonna need you to deal with that RIP in Pepperoni ASAP as Possible…  
 **DanteInfernus –** The Legion has a new leader. Alicia. You assume that Anna and Ian are going to the same afterlife, though. Virtuoso may have something to say about where the souls of the dead go. And yes, he is the worst luck. The. Worst.  
 **Guest 4 –** Part of the spell was her blowing herself up; it was an absolute last resort where she was taking her foes with her. Also, they would have to get there, and then would have to rely on all the Black Dogs congregating there as well. I also didn't use/mention the miasma field in this story. It doesn't exist.  
 **Ddastan –** Celeste is very much naïve of the reality of Louk. She has only ever seen him in social settings, after all. The Dark Elves have seen a hint of the beast, and they accept it. Also, let's be honest. Dark elves.  
 **Guest 5 –** You have to remember though, there is a solitary daemonic influence in this world. Virtuoso is spreading the corruption, but it is only a single daemon, and it decided to hold a single form.  
 **catemperor402 –** It is supposed to make people feel sick. What happened to Chole was awful, and it shouldn't be portrayed as anything but.  
 **Axccel –** To be fair, the Inquisition did chase it here. It more or less knew he was coming. But yes, very much a CREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED moment.

* * *

 **The border of Ansur and Thorn**

Luu-Luu eyed the lone rider from a distance, her sharp halgling eyes identifying at a range that mere mortals could only imagine. Signaling to her camp, she motioned for her company to get off their butts and get to work. They had been sitting on the border for three days now. The time for frivolity and slacking was over.

"'bout time he shows up" her lieutenant, a thick-snouted beastkin, grumbled.

"Shaddup" Luu-Luu chided, smacking the much larger beastkin across the small of his back. It was about as high as she could reach on him. A towering minotaur, her second in command could easily carry her on his shoulders like a father and child. The height difference meant nothing to her; she remarked on more than one occasion that she was perfectly tall enough to strike him where he was most vulnerable. And the beastkin knew she would relish the opportunity should it come to her. "Alright you useless sacks of fat! Make yourselves look like you know what you're doing. Reaper has deigned to grace us with his presence."

Her fifty-strong company groused and kicked about, collapsing tents and packing up the campsite. There was a laziness in their movements, but not so much that she thought they needed a tongue-lashing. They were the Border Guard of Ansur, after all. Too much professionalism and someone might think they were actual soldiers. Still, she picked out random members of her company and lashed at them for this or that. No sense in letting them become complacent too. A fair bit of chuckles and grins followed in the wake of her tirade. Halfling forces had never been known for their discipline, and Luu-Luu was the worst sinner of them all in that regard.

The present force was as mixed a bag as one could find in Ansur. Mostly true halflings, a couple elves, the odd human or two. Maybe three humans. She glanced over her shoulder and counted. No, two. And then a handful of beastkin. By no means were they the bravest warriors in her territory. Nor were they the worst. Like she always did, Luu-Luu had formed this company by kicking in the doors at every tavern in her path and challenging those inside to go on an adventure. It was the halfling way, always had been. These fifty were the bravest of the lot. Only the crazy or the brave followed Luu-Luu into danger. The halfling leader of Ansur did not like ordinary danger, after all. She liked things to be terrifying and impossible. As did her people.

Reaper was riding, but his horse was moving slow. It trod heavily down the path, its movements slow and stilted. Furrowing her brow, Luu-Luu studied the man as he drew closer. The last time she had seen the grump, he had been sharp, clean, and dangerous. Time moved quickly for him, it seemed. She had heard rumors filtering up from the western regions. Prim and Alicia were both dead now. The bastard Black Dogs had struck a terrible blow to the west and Reaper had been right in the thick of it. He really looked it, too.

The single best word for it: disheveled. She wanted to make a snarky comment about the bedraggled slump of his shoulders, or the unkempt stubble growing on his chin, or even the mud caked on his coat and boots. There were a dozen barbs that leapt to her mind, but she squashed them all as the full picture of Reaper came to bear. Even Luu-Luu knew there were some things you did not joke about. Bloodstains colored his hands, his sleeves. His horse spat foam and heaved with each step. A gentle breeze would knock the poor thing to its knees, and she wondered if Reaper had the strength to catch himself if it fell.

"You look like shit" she settled for, greeted him with an upturned nod.

Reaper glanced down at her, his dark eyes too exhausted to glare. It might have been days since he last slept. Easing the horse to a halt, Reaper leaned over to the side, letting his leg slide free of the stirrup and dropping to the ground in a graceful, if unbalanced, maneuver. The minotaur thoughtfully took the horse's reins and guided it off for rest and food.

"I was delayed" he grunted.

"More trouble to the west?"

"Maia" he responded.

"Maia what?"

Reaper glanced about, his intent clear. Turning back to her company, and finding them all gaping like brain-addled fools, Luu-Luu swung her massive hammer in a wide arc and warned them away.

"I need a few hours of sleep" Reaper declared. "That is all I can afford."

It was clear he had no desire to remain standing any longer than necessary. Figuring she would have plenty of time on the road to pry for information, Luu-Luu gestured to her own tent. It did not stand out from the others. In fact she had appropriated it from one of her company after realizing she had set out on this adventure without any supplies of her own. Offering the tent with a shrug, Luu-Luu let Reaper go and stared off down the road.

Her intuition was keener than a razor. The first time Reaper came before the Goddess Reborn, Luu-Luu told herself that this one was the closest thing to her equal she had ever laid eyes on. But something had ruined him. Battered him and tossed him about, left him bleeding and torn. She wondered what she had missed. It galled her to know she had missed a good fight down in Ur, especially since that fight had cost them all so dearly.

Gripping her hammer tightly, Luu-Luu thought of Prim, and promised herself that it would never happen again. The world had lost too much. But no more. The halflings of Ansur would stop the damn Black Dogs if it cost them all their lives.

 **-v-**

Reaper proved just as gruff after his nap. Her insistent prodding produced no results, even after several hours on the road. The man's ability to shrug off her nagging might have been infuriating if Luu-Luu had not found it so intriguing. She might have kept at it, to see how far she could push him before he snapped at her, but their arrival at the first village stole her attention away entirely.

The village was called Ojo. Luu-Luu had spent a couple nights in the quaint village before during trips to visit Thorn's grand temple. Like all those of Thorn, the people were dull, respectful, and polite to the point it drove her mad. She loved them for how utterly un-halfling they were.

When they entered the village, however, no villagers worked in the fields. No children ran about the streets kicking balls or chasing bugs. The place was silent, empty. Still as the grave. Luu-Luu wasted no time sending out her company to search the village. The Ansur warriors went house by house, spreading through Ojo like water making its way down a rock face. Repeated announcements of empty homes filled her with unease, a sensation she made a point of having too little familiarity with. Had there been dead, or perhaps survivors or loners found she might have relaxed. One did not just empty a village. Too many would insist on staying behind if the rest fled. Damage would be obvious and unavoidable if they had been attacked.

While she waited for a report she doubted would come, Luu-Luu followed Reaper into the center of the village. The man had remained almost entirely silent on the journey so far. A heaviness weighed on him, a solemnity in his steps as he stalked down the packed dirt road that split Ojo in half. His hands remained free and at his sides; he too sensed no danger. That was one of the many things that struck Luu-Luu as utterly wrong with this place. The place reeked of wrongness, but not danger.

Stopping at the central well that Ojo had risen around, Reaper peered into the murky darkness of the hole. Luu-Luu resisted the urge to look as well. Her curiosity at this place's state could not be denied, but that did not mean she had to go poking her nose about like a child. That was what her company was for. Leaning her shoulder against the wall, she glanced up at Reaper and studied his face, scrutinizing his expression for any hint of his thoughts.

"Someone poison the watering hole?"

"Pass me a bucket."

She did, flicking it up into the air with her hammer. Snatching it up, Luu-Luu handed it over to Reaper, who hooked it on the rope and let it slide down the hole. It landed quickly with a splash. Drawing the bucket back up with lazy effort, the man cast a glance around and let out a deep breath.

"She was here" Reaper muttered.

"Who was here?"

"Maia."

"Why was Maia here?"

Again, he refused to elaborate. Content on being a stone-faced tease, Reaper lifted the bucket from the rope and sniffed at the crystal-clear water. Luu-Luu eyed the water warily. Well water rarely was this clear, if ever. It looked as pure as an enchanted glade's pond, and Ojo was very much not enchanted.

"Tell your people to not drink the water" Reaper ordered.

"Poisoned?"

"Yes."

The gruff way he spat out the word told her that he was lying. Something clearly was wrong with the water, and Luu-Luu did not feel like challenging him on it. Poison was an easy enough explanation. The whispers of things happening in the west made her imagination crawl and burst with horrid imagination. She almost wanted to try it just to see what it did.

Dumping the bucket down the well, he picked up a rock and scratched a large X on the well's small roof. Luu-Luu tore the rope from its pulley and dropped the whole thing down the hole. It could have been tainted by the water. Met by a small nod of approval, the halfling Shield hopped up onto the well's edge and gazed about the village, kicking her feet aimlessly.

"What do you think did this?"

"The water" Reaper answered quietly.

"Where'd they go?"

His silence felt measured, plotted. Like he actually knew the answer, even though Luu-Luu knew there was no earthly way he could know it. How could anyone know what had truly happened here? There were no clues, no indicators. When news had first reached her that Thorn had fallen silent, she had not believed it. Now, she believed it.

In pairs, her company congregated around the well. Each returned with the same story. No sign of the inhabitants, or of struggle. The whole population had up and vanished. Very mysterious. Her skin crawled at the thought of what ghoulish horror had befallen them. Still, it wouldn't do to show an ounce of fear in front of this ragtag band. Especially when more than one showed unease and suspicion about the place. Giving the curt order to not touch any food or drink, she gave permission for a short rest. After the worst of the heat had passed, they got back to the march. Reaper had a destination in mind, though in truth Luu-Luu had the same idea.

The grand temple. Kaguya was the most important person in Thorn, and also the one who might have answers, or at least be able to help discover what had happened here. With luck, the grand temple might even have refugees, witnesses to this strange phenomenon.

For two days they marched. Another village on their path offered the same mystery, the same emptiness. Once again Reaper forbade anyone touch the water, and they camped in the square with a heavy guard. Luu-Luu had little fear of attack. The ambience was wrong, and her beastkin allies could smell an orc at a league's distance. Her company did not share her confidence. Several times she caught hushed conversation, or nervous leaps and jumps at creaking doors or rattling window frames. The oppressive wrongness of the land dampened all their spirits. She tried starting up a song once, to cheer them as they marched. No one joined in, even after a heartfelt round of curses and belittling insults.

Reaper stood watch each night. The man had an indefatigable spirit. For him to have been so tired on his arrival must have meant days and days without rest, she realized. He slept less than a single watch a night and ate practically nothing. It was enough for Luu-Luu to question his humanity.

Finally, they came to the grand temple, Kaguya's home and the spiritual center of Thorn. Her company was thoroughly rattled by that point; several days of marching through the abandoned countryside and ghost villages left them all on edge. Except for Reaper. He did not appear to have changed in the slightest since entering Thorn. As a result they were not quite jumping at shadows, but tension and unease buffeted the company like a low-hanging storm cloud. A smothering foreboding rankled Luu-Luu's senses, and she found herself inspecting the walls for danger.

She needn't have bothered. The outer walls of the grand temple were not defensive positions. Composed of hardened brick two feet deep, the walls had no walkways, no towers. They barely reached seven feet at the highest, an insurmountable barrier to a halfling but just a hop for a human or elf. The grand temple was supposed to be a place of peace, not war.

And yet the road leading up to the gate had become a carpet of the dead.

Horrified cries rang out behind her as the gruesome scene came into view. Luu-Luu held her breath, stunned by the sight of hundreds of bodies wearing simple clothes. Villagers. Hundreds of villagers slain outside the walls of the grand temple. She glanced up at Reaper, who surveyed the scene without breaking stride. He alone had continued forwards. Even she had stopped walking, and Luu-Luu jumped after him with a flare of shame heating her belly.

"Come on, you dogs. This isn't the first time you've seen the dead."

Her shout did not encourage her people, but it did get them moving. The company advanced in close formation, unwilling to spread out as they drew close to the first of the corpses. They anticipated an ambush, though Luu-Luu knew this was the last place to expect one. The bodies were clearly old, days old. Whatever had done this had passed some time ago.

Reaper did not stop to inspect them. He trudged through the floor of corpses, taking care to not step on any but hardly slowing down. Luu-Luu hurried after him, struggling to match his longer-legged pace. All the while she studied the dead. Their bodies were broken, crushed. Bodies fallen and trampled by a stampede. There were no arrows, no blade wounds. Had all these people did to a mass panic? How many had been in the crowd?

The bodies grew more numerous the nearer they came to the gate. For the most part they showed the same injuries. Trampling and physical trauma. The thought of it was horrible, and Luu-Luu wondered what had caused such an awful scene. All of the bodies appeared to have fallen forwards, towards the temple. The crushing momentum of the crowd had been absolute.

"She is here" Reaper said.

"Maia" Luu-Luu asked, guessing his meaning. The man did not answer, which was a sure sign that she was right. A terrible worm crawled under the skin, itching at her skull as she pondered what Reaper was not telling her. He did not appear shocked in the least by the carnage. It almost looked like he had expected it.

Stopping short of the gate, he bent down and rolled a random body over. No, not a random body, Luu-Luu realized. The snapped shaft of an arrow stuck out of the corpse's chest. A kill shot from an archer. To her shock, the arrow bore the marked fletching of the temple guard. She looked around and found another, then another.

"They tried" Reaper informed her.

"Tried what?"

"To stop it."

His lack of clarity proved frustrating before. In this situation it could prove deadly. Luu-Luu hurled an arrow shaft past him and stamped her feet.

"Damn it! Tell me something useful, you blockhead. If I am walking my people into something, you need to tell me what it is."

"Then don't bring them in." He resumed walking.

Luu-Luu gestured for her company to halt. They did so gratefully, and set about inspecting the dead to check for survivors. Gesturing for her lieutenant to take charge, she rushed after Reaper, and caught up to him at the gate. She wished she had not. The scene leading up to the gate was awful. The scene just inside the gate came straight out of a nightmare.

The gates had been pushed in by the weight of the crowd. A pile of dead spilled over the gate, lumped against the threshold and spreading into the courtyard, a blooming puddle of gore and death. Temple guard corpses were mixed in with the villagers, their weapons broken or buried in the dead. The front of the temple had been savaged, she saw. The cloth walls that shaded the outer rooms had been torn open, and bodies littered the gardens, walkways, and furniture. Worst of all, the temple inhabitants had been torn limb from limb. Their bodies were mutilated, torn to pieces.

"What in the blazes" Luu-Luu breathed, letting her hammer fall to the ground. It landed with a squish on a corpse, and she nearly flinched. Shaking herself to clear her head, she clenched her teeth and looked again over the courtyard.

There were scores of people still standing, shuffling about as if in a daze. Mostly villagers, but with some temple servants as well. All of them appeared bloodied, battered, but alive. They move aimlessly, bumping into each other, tripping over the dead. Like children lost in a market.

"Don't look at them" Reaper warned her. He placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "Whatever you do, don't look at them."

"They are survivors" she gasped.

"No, they are not."

He started walking, moving through the dead. The gate creaked as his weight caused the wooden panel to shift. There must have been a dozen or more bodies crushed underneath it. Pushing the awful thought aside, Luu-Luu followed him into the courtyard and obediently kept her gaze averted from the stumbling figures.

They were moaning. Horrible, pitiful groans, the kind one heard in a medical ward for the deathly sick. Her skin crawled at the discordant chorus, a dirge-like tide that grew louder as they crossed under the welcoming threshold of the temple proper. The shambling bodies were present even in the hallways. She dearly wished to look up at one of them, but a prickling sensation she could not describe kept her head lowered. There was something about Reaper's attitude and words that had her listening as if her life depended on it. Maybe it did. She did not know what to make of the man, or his secrets. It seemed a lifetime ago that the Shields had waited in that hallway, with Reaper sitting in the window sill. She would have given anything to go back to that time, to see Prim again and hear the beautiful girl's laughter.

Anger surged in her veins, and she gripped her hammer tightly. That bastard was going to pay for his crimes. She would crush him herself if she could.

One of the shamblers bumped into her shoulder. Luu-Luu froze, instinct bringing her hammer up to deflect an attack. To her amazement, the body kept on moving, ambling further down the hallway as if she did not exist.

"What are they?" She was not sure she wanted the answer.

"The ones that were too late."

"Too late to what?"

He did not know how to navigate the temple, but he still strode with purpose, aiming for the sanctum of the temple, the sacred room where Kaguya and her other priestesses conducted the most important rites. It was also the most well-protected room in the temple, and had multiple side rooms that could house forty or more people for some time should calamity befall. That was where Kaguya would have gone. That is where they would find her.

Here and there they found the remains of temple guard defenders. Hallways choked with so many dead they had to double back and find another way, or a thick swath of dead where a master duelist had kept a whole mob at bay before being overwhelmed. She did not bother trying to count the dead. On the road there had been hundreds. Inside these walls there must have been thousands. It was like the entirety of Thorn had converged in a mad horde on the grand temple.

They reached the doors to the sanctum and found a greater concentration of the shamblers. Scores and scores of them stood just outside the doors, bumping and shuffling in a mass. Their moans were louder than the ones outside, sharper. Wailing sorrow and regret. It was such a terrible sound she wanted to vomit. Dizziness crept into her vision, upset her balance. She set her hammer on the ground and leaned on its haft, panting for breath.

"She is here" Reaper said. His voice barely carried over the rising cacophony of the crowd.

"Wh… Ma…a" Luu-Luu murmured. Sweat dripped into her eyes. She wiped her forehead clear with the back of her hand. Gods, she felt like she was burning up. It was not hot out. Autumn was in full swing. Why did she feel so hot?

"We need to get inside."

To her horror, the doors of the sanctum stood open. Luu-Luu staggered after Reaper, struggling to keep her footing. Her throat itched horribly. Her tongue was dry as sand. A heavy, crippling weight pressed down on her shoulders. Reaper had to grab her by the scruff of her neck and push her along, nearly carrying her as she fought desperately just to keep her footing. Her eyes teared up from the throbbing pain banging about in her skull. Terror bloomed in her belly as he thrust them both into the crowd. She was defenseless, hardly able to hold her hammer. The press of bodies smothered her in an instant. Like a swimmer drowning at sea, she found herself pushed and pulled by the tide of moving bodies. The stink of rotting flesh and decay overwhelmed her. Putrid stenches filled her mouth and nostrils. A stomach that had ironed itself over years and years of challenges and battle churned crazily, and she screamed in fear as one of the amblers toppled over, its face smashing into hers.

The creature had no eyes. Two gaping, pus-filled cavities pushed against her forehead. Its mouth was raw and blistered, a blackened tooth leaking foul secretions over brown teeth. It was the decay of a body months' dead.

Suddenly there were grasping hands everywhere. Clawed and broken fingers tearing at her arms, at her clothes. Reaper cursed, and the press of the crowd turned into a furious assault. Luu-Luu tried to lift her hammer. Her arms were weak as jelly. Mouths filled with broken and lost teeth snapped at her, lunging for her exposed skin. She shrieked again and again, helpless in the horde of monsters.

A sword flashed over her face, cutting through the shamblers like the Goddess' own wrath. They crumbled away, but others took their place. A crushing agony shot through her leg. One of the shamblers had buried its teeth in her shin. She kicked weakly. The sword took its head clean off. Reaper pushed suddenly, bowling aside a dozen bodies as he charged through the mob and through the doors.

The roar of the shamblers vanished the instant they crossed into the sanctum. Her ears popped, a tidal wave of pressure washing off her mind as the world fell suddenly silent, empty. Heat drained from her head, the nausea vanished and pulled out of her. The inside of the sanctum cleansed her the same way a cold wash of water cleansed the muck and filth from a long day of wrestling.

Reaper dropped her unceremoniously on the floor. She was too unbalanced to complain, and fretfully gazed back at the doorway. The shamblers had resumed their aimless wandering, shuffling past the doors but never approaching them. As if Reaper and Luu-Luu had vanished from existence.

"They were dead" she whimpered. Her world had shattered. The dead walking? Such a thing was not possible. Rumors had persisted for some time that the Dark Queen of Garan knew necromancy, but those had always been mere rumors. She had never thought to see a true undead, not like this. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she caught sight of one of the shamblers, a little figure maybe as tall as she was. It was dressed in a ragged and torn priestess initiate robe. Just a child. "They are all dead."

Reaper paid her no attention. He stepped away from her, sword still drawn. Those heavy boots of his clicked ominously on the marble floor of the sanctum. Luu-Luu spent a moment fussing over the bloody gash on her leg. She tore a strip of fabric off her sleeve and wrapped a hasty tourniquet above her knee. Then, rising unsteadily to her feet, she gazed into the sanctum.

A horrified scream tore itself from her lungs.

The center of the sanctum was reserved as the holiest of places, a shrine for the god that Kaguya and her kin worshipped. The altar for her god was a wondrous thing, crafted out of gold and pearl by Luu-Luu's ancestors, and was agreed to be the most beautiful work of art in Eostia.

Now that altar lay buried under a mountain of skulls, arms, legs, and torsos. A towering pile of corpse-parts, stacked in unnatural synchronicity, and at the top of that tower sat a single, lone skeleton. Unlike all the parts and bits stacked below it, this one had been stripped clean, all traces of sinew and flesh removed. There was almost nothing to identify it, save for the silver tiara balanced carefully on its skull and the shredded robes of the high priestess draped over its shoulders.

Her halfling sight counted the gnaw marks on its bones.

"They… ate her" she whined. The dizziness returned, and she sank to her knees. Luu-Luu's hammer clattered to the floor, fallen from her nerveless hands. Tears poured down her cheeks and she vented another scream sorrow.

A lone figure knelt at the foot of the altar. Its wretched sobbing echoed Luu-Luu's own. Clad in blue pants and a red fur-lined vest, Maia the Shield of Rad wept at the base of the macabre tower.

"Maia." Reaper advanced on the Shield, his sword trailing at his side.

At the sound of her name, Maia's head rose. She turned to regard them, and Luu-Luu's sorrow grew deeper at the ragged sight of her friend. Maia's skin was gaunt, her face pale and sickly. A feverish purple light burned in her eyes. She was sick. Something very wrong had happened to her.

"Too late" Maia murmured, her voice shrill and reedy. "Too late. Toolate. Toolatetoolatetoolatetoolate."

"Too late for what" the dark figure of Reaper demanded.

"Here. Was here." Maia rocked back and forth on her knees, eyes dancing wildly about the room. "He said he would wait for me. He was here to wait for me."

"No one else is here" Reaper told her. There was a violent edge to his voice. A threat of danger, of death. Luu-Luu lifted a hand to warn her friend. She could not speak. Her lungs croaked pitifully and she gazed at the two in despair.

"He was here. He was waiting for me. Too long. Too late. I was too late." Maia's cheeks ran wet with bloody tears. The Shield collapsed on the ground, clutching at her belly, and mewled up at Reaper. "He was here."

Reaper's sword flashed down, and Maia's head rolled away from her body. A fragile moan rose to Luu-Luu's lips. Wiping the sword clean on the Shield's corpse, Reaper sheathed his blade and looked up at the remains of Kaguya.

"I can't win" he muttered. The man's shoulders sank just slightly, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. Luu-Luu could have sworn she saw tears forming the man's eyes. Then he looked up, at her, and the brutal scowl he wore had returned.

"They bit you" he accused, eyes fixed on her leg.

Luu-Luu nodded. A pit formed in her belly. Sadness crept through Reaper's mask. He put a hand on his sword.

"It isn't curable, is it?" she asked.

Reaper shook his head.

"And I become like them?" The halfling gestured towards the doors.

"Yes."

"They infected this land. Turned the people into… into monsters." She blinked furiously, and the truth of the matter threatened to crush her. "I'm not leaving this place, am I?"

He shook his head. Luu-Luu heaved in a deep breath, and looked at the corpses of her friends.

"Damn it. I wasn't supposed to die like this." Pushing herself to her feet, she scooped up her axe and forced down the quiet in her belly. It felt heavier than it had ever felt in her hands, heavier even than when she had forged the weapon as a child. Reaper gazed at her expectantly.

"I can't risk this infection escaping Thorn."

"But I'm not dead yet." Luu-Luu screamed and brought her hammer down on the marble floor. The tiles shattered under the impact of her strength. Shards flew about the room. "Damn it, I'm not dead yet."

Anger simmered in her heart. A fierce, boiling rage and indignation. "Those bastards murdered my Prim. They murdered Alicia, and Kaguya. I don't know what happened to Maia but I know they were behind that too. You can bet your ass I'm going to take down as many of those bastards as I can before I go."

"You can't leave" Reaper assured her. He drew his sword. "They aren't here anymore."

"But those monsters are." She pointed at the door with her hammer. "Let me at least avenge their deaths with those things. Let me die swinging."

He pondered her proposal for a long minute, then sheathed his sword. Offering a curt nod, he gestured to the door.

"Oh…" a giggling voice echoed throughout the sanctum, careening off the curved walls at odd angles. "That won't be necessary."

Reaper spun on his heel, and Luu-Luu brought up her hammer.

Two figures stepped out from behind the corpse-tower. To her left stood a thin and wretched creature, a man clad in mage robes. His face had been burned clean off, leaving a sickly visage of pulsing tendons and raw bone. Like the shamblers, he had no eyes. Unlike them, he appeared very much in control of his senses.

On the other side, a tall figure in bloodstained robes reminiscent of the temple priests held out a hand in dismissive indifference. His skin was obscured by heavy bandages. Luu-Luu glared at them both. She recognized neither. But they were both enemies and would die, either by her hammer or Reaper's blade.

"I thought you had left" Reaper growled. "Cowards usually do."

"Our master had better things to do" the skull-faced man cackled. "He was here, it is true. He came to consecrate our work. To bless us for our diligence. But then he left. The wind from the west, here one moment, gone the next. Always carrying on to greater things."

"You will wish he stayed behind." Reaper brought his sword up and pointed it at the figure. "Maybe he could have protected you."

"Our purpose is complete" the one of the right stated. His voice was hoarse, a leper's cough. A rusted necklace hung from his neck, holding an ugly gemstone that glowed a sickly green light. "Take our lives, if you wish. It makes no difference. Our master's work is moving faster than you can comprehend… dog."

"New plan" Luu-Luu grumbled, shuffled up to join Reaper. "You chop up the one on the left. I bash in the one on the right."

She did not wait for his agreement. Pushing off into a charge, Luu-Luu bellowed a wrathful cry that shook the whole sanctum. Bones rattled and slid from the tower. The figure leapt backwards, frantically avoiding a swing that cracked the tiles again and sent a shiver through the corpse-tower.

More bones and bits rained down, falling from their careful placement. She could not see the other side, her charge had placed her on the opposite side from Reaper. It did not matter. Her only goal was the bandage-wrapped bastard in front of her, who gamely dodged out of her reach, keeping just a hair ahead of her.

"Stand still and die" Luu-Luu roared. Her leg itched abominably. Despite that, her arms flowed with white-hot fury, and her strength had returned to her in full.

The priest loosed an arcane cry, and the room's temperature plummeted. A creeping darkness pooled just behind the moving figure, out of sight but maddeningly present. Her sight bent around the man, sliding off his form and drawing into the inky blackness that shivered and slithered just beyond her senses. A tendril of that darkness form in his hand, and he lashed out at her with the dark blade.

Her hammer was forged of mithril, one of the strongest substances known to Eostia. It had taken years to make the weapon, months just to heat the mithril to the proper temperature. There was nothing in the world that could break a mithril weapon.

The darkness bit deep into the haft of her hammer, slicing halfway through before grinding to a stop. Stunned by the unexpected blow, Luu-Luu staggered backwards and spun her hammer, deftly pushing the priest's blade aside. She gaped at her hammer, then at the mesmerizing darkness swirling into the shape of a ball and chain.

"That's just not fair" she grumbled. Diving in low, she ducked under a horizontal swing and thrust out with her hammer. It was a weak blow, a poor blow for a hammer's intended use, but it caught the priest in the thighs and drove him back. She went to capitalize on the attack, but the darkness cut in front of her, moving against its own momentum to dart back and fend off her follow-up.

Swinging her hammer in a wide arc, she bought herself some breathing room. The priest wound the darkness around his wrist, molding it into a glove.

"What blasted magic is that" Luu-Luu challenged.

"Magic?" The priest laughed. "Our master spits on this world's magic. He is a power of something far greater than you could possibly imagine."

"Guess I'll just beat the answer out of you."

She charged in again. The priest caught her hammer strike with his inky glove. The force behind his blow sent her reeling. Too furious to care about her safety, Luu-Luu turned that wild stagger into a broad sweep, coming around to smash her hammer into the priest's leg. Bone and flesh gave way, pulverized by her mithril hammer.

But the priest did not howl or stumble. He hardly reacted to the damage. Turning on his remaining leg, he punched out at her and carried past his balance. Oily smoke poured under the lip of his robe, and a leg formed out of the blackness. Continuing on as if nothing had happened, he struck the stunned halfling with a backhand that hurled her across the room. She careened into the corpse-tower, shattering dozens of bones as the side of the corpse-tower cratered with her impact.

"You are far stronger than she was" the priest murmured, caressing the oily tendrils as they danced around him. The darkness stretched and rubbed against him, coiling protectively about his person like a domesticated cat. "Now die in despair, you faithless cur."

At a simple flicking gesture, the darkness lanced outwards. Luu-Luu threw herself forwards, tearing free of the teetering corpse-tower, but the shot came nowhere near her. It pierced the very air, tearing a gaping hole in her perception, and smashed into the doorway of the sanctum. A pulsing light flared once, then the doorway crumbled.

The shamblers rushed inside.

She found herself swamped in seconds, surrounded by a gnashing mob of corpses that tore at her with rotten hands. Sweeping her hammer back and forth, she shattered bones and crushed limbs. The damage slowed them, but it did not stop them. Monsters whose legs she had pulped crawled after her with their hands. A pus-leaking man lost half his torso to her hammer, only to continue on as his organs slithered to the tiles.

The putrid stench of the dead was everywhere, choking her lungs. She retreated as she fought, unable to find any traction as the sheer press of bodies threatened to flatten her. The priest had disappeared, hiding in the crowd or going off to his own task.

Reaper appeared behind her, his own fighting retreat bringing them back to back. His sword made short work of the monsters; those he cut did not get back up. But there were so many of them. Even he could not fight them all off. His opponent likewise had vanished.

"Looks like you got what you wished for" he grunted, parrying a crushing blow from a corpse and ramming his blade into its throat. The head rolled off and landed on the tile with an awful squelch. "You get to die fighting."

"Fuck that" Luu-Luu snarled. "I want those bastards!"

"I got mine" he said.

"Bully for you" the halfling griped. Her hammer was growing loose on its haft. The damage from the blackness had cut so deep into the handle it was coming apart. "You have a plan?"

"Where's the priest?"

"Like I can see anything" she shouted. Most of their attackers were a full head and shoulders taller than she was. It was a natural disadvantage to being so short. But halflings were not weak fighters. Her strength alone kept the horde at bay, as her hammer launched bodies with each impact.

"When I tell you" he called out, pausing for a moment to sidestep a monster. The creature stumbled past Luu-Luu, flailing aimlessly. "Get small."

"And fuck you too" she cried back. "Now isn't the time to be making jokes about my hei-"

"Now!"

She dropped to a crouch, holding her hammer out to ward off any attacks. Reaper leapt over her, one hand planted on her shoulder to anchor himself. His sword lashed out in a broad circular sweep that took down the front rank of their attackers. The strange weapon on his hip came out in his other hand, and a sizzling bolt of red light leapt from it. She might have cursed in amazement had the situation not been so frantic.

An explosion rocked the sanctum. Hellish green light washed over the horde, through her bones. The most gods-awful tingling rattled her very soul. Stung by a whisper-quiet screaming of something she did not want to know, she tumbled onto her back and curled up in a ball. Bodies hurtled by, launched by the explosion. Jagged green bolts snapped after them, impaling flesh with light that somehow rent limbs asunder.

The corpse-tower groaned as it toppled over. Her eyes widen as the shadow of it passed over her. Screeching in fear, she rolled to her knees and scrambled away, terrified of the hundreds of pounds of bones that slid, then crashed, then shattered to the tile floor as the corpse-pile came down on the monsters.

The sanctum grew silent again.

Picking herself up, Luu-Luu propped herself against the wall and cast her startled gaze over the hellscape that had overtaken the room. A sea of bones and bodies littered the ground, so many that the floor had vanished under their grotesque carpet. The monsters were buried and mixed in with the truly dead, though she could hardly tell the difference save for the minute shuffling and tremors that disturbed piles of limbs and triggered tiny cascades. The bodies rose to her knees. So many dead.

That was hardly the worst part, though. A rippling, pulsing ball of utter darkness gaped out of the very air not far from where she had been standing. Her eyes burned at the sight of it, her mind rejecting the sight of a darkness darker than black, a hole torn in the fabric of reality. Faces and shapes danced in the darkness, cackling silently and whispering to her. They reached out to her with thin tendrils of sickly green light. The light spilled out of the darkness with no direction, no purpose. It crawled over the dead, drew intricate symbols of profane knowledge in the air. One reached out tentatively to her, beckoning for her to accept it. She almost did, lifting her hand to greet the wyrdlight.

Reaper grabbed her hand and forced it down, placing himself between her and the light. The tendril retracted, leaping away as if stung. The sword in his hand burned with the same hellish green flame, though it bubbled and popped along the length of the steel without truly leavings its form. Walking resolutely into the light, Reaper chased the tendril back into the darkness.

Everywhere the light touched, the world withered and died. Tiles drew dull and cracked, crumbling into dust. Bodies ripened and burst. One seemed to bulge and writhe, shivering as the light swept over it, embraced it. The dead man's stomach exploded in a shower of viscera, and a tiny little blob wriggled to its feet. Needle-sharp teeth and bulging eyes gazed about the sanctum, inspecting its surroundings and giving a toothy grin. The creature let out a triumphant giggle, only to vanish in a puff of red lightning and gas as Reaper launched another bolt of red into it.

"Fecking Nurglings" Reaper grumbled. His voice echoed drunkenly in her ears, coming from too many places. He reached the gaping darkness. The screams grew louder, pained. Luu-Luu's head swam and she sank to the floor, clutching her head in agony as a thousand sibilant whispers raked at her ears. The voices were inhuman, monstrous, but so very sweet. Her mouth filled with hot liquid. Prying her jaws apart, she hissed at the pain of a bitten tongue and urgently spat out the blood.

Reaper's sword cut through the darkness, and the light vanished. Her ears popped, and the piles of bones shivered and went still. Long fingers of fire-scoured trenches marked the path of the wyrdlight, and the tile was warp and glassy where it had touched.

"So that's what it does" Reaper mused, reaching into his pocket. He produced a green gem, similar to the one that the priest had worn on his necklace. "Warp stone. That's a new one."

Luu-Luu nodded along, pretending to understand. She made to stand up, holding the wall for support. But her legs had no strength, and she sank to her rump with a groan. The flesh around her bite wound was greying, growing rancid at an alarming rate. She felt trickles of cold spreading through her veins. The halfling tried to call out to Reaper; a weak moan bubbled in her blood-filled mouth.

He heard her. And his approach was as ominous as the approach of death itself. Holding his sword out to the side, that hellfire sword that burned without flame and cut the darkness, he glowered down at her with an expression that was not quite pity, but entirely regretful.

"You can feel it" he told her.

She nodded slowly. The cold was in her chest, in her toes. It was everywhere.

"I am sorry."

The halfling Shield of Ansur tried to laugh. Her chest heaved for air, but only blood filled her lungs. She spat out a glob of blackened vitae. The cold touch of his sword pricked against her chest, hovering over her heart.

It was cold. Why was his sword cold?

"You fought well, Luu-Luu. That's as good an epitaph as I can think of. You died protecting your people."

He thrus-

 **-v-**

Louk picked the halfling Shield's body from the floor. She was the size of a child, so pitifully small in his arms. Tar-like blood trickled from her lips, oozed from the bite wound on her leg. It had not been a good death. He had lied about that. It was painful, humiliating, helpless. Luu-Luu was robbed of a warrior's death.

He should not have allowed her to come along.

"Such… tragedy."

The presence slid the room, cloaked in lies and the chill of the void. Louk sensed it easily enough. He did not have the energy to draw his sword. Holding Luu-Luu close, he strode for the exit.

"Did you like my present?"

Alicia stepped out of the shadow.

The daemon's corruption of her body had grown more severe, more prominent. Prim's skin melded with her own flesh, two bodies merged as one, and when Alicia turned in a slow circle, holding her arms out wide for him to inspect like a child showing a new dress to her father, her visage shifted between the two. Prim's grinning innocence and Alicia's suspicious frown. The two faces shifted seamlessly together, changing as he looked.

"I am going to destroy you" Louk promised the daemon.

"Oh, but you already tried. Several times." Alicia-Prim danced over the corpses, stepping on her tiptoes as she studied the carnage. "That tower was a gift to me."

"Why are you here?"

"Why am I anywhere?" Her smile widened and she cupped her naked breasts, offering them unashamedly. "Why are you here? Why are they here? Why is here? So many questions, Reaper. I can give you the answers you seek. I can tell you… everything."

He set Luu-Luu's corpse down beside the doorway. Turning back to the daemon, he glared at Prim-Alicia and drew _Durendal_. "Was that the point of this? Was this a message, to me?"

"To you?" She giggled and reached into the sea of gore. Maia's head emerged, and she gave the foam-stained mouth a long and sensuous kiss. "Not everything is about you. This is my world now. I am merely staking my claim. The wretched inhabitants of this place are amusing, nothing more."

"You feared her." He gestured to the altar, now visible with the fall of the corpse-tower. The gold platform had been desecrated with blood and bone. "She had power that could harm you."

"Did. Does. Will." Prim-Alicia turned Maia's head around. The dead Shield's mouth moved in tandem to the daemon's own lips. "I guess you will never know. But I could tell you. I want to tell you, Reaper. I want you. You are the only thing in this world that I truly care for."

"Then come over here so you can have me." He tapped the sword against the tiled floor. "Let's get it over with."

"Patience, Reaper. I have so much more to do. My work is never ending. The plans, you see. So many plans."

"Maybe I can help with those plans."

"I would like that." Alicia-Prim nodded earnestly, stepping forward with too-bright eyes. "Even though you are lying. A terrible liar. The worst liar."

"What are you talking about?"

"You promise so much. Empty promises of protection. Of salvation. That is what I love about you, Reaper. That eternal hope, that unending wellspring of optimism."

She stepped closer, licking her lips in savage hunger.

"Optimism?" He grunted. "I don't think you've been paying attention."

"Oh, but I have. You thought you could drive me from this new world. This beautiful, innocent, new world. But I have such great wonders in store for the people, for the land. I will remake this world in my own image. A blissful, wondrous land of ecstasy and endless pleasure. They will spend their lives feasting and loving, Reaper. It will be so wonderful."

"I will stop you."

"That ship sailed a long time ago" she giggled in Prim's voice. "You think you can stop me now? You are alone."

"I have the two most powerful sorceresses in the world at my side."

"No" she countered, reaching up to hold a finger just inches from his lips. He tensed, every muscle screaming to swing. "You are alone. Here, now. And soon, you will be alone there too."

 _Durendal_ flashed up, and Alicia-Prim leapt daintily out of reach.

"You lie."

"I don't lie" the daemon promised. "Not to you, Reaper."

He turned on his heel and looked down at Luu-Luu's body. The halfling's corpse had already turned grey and decomposing with visible speed. Drawing his laspistol, he set the weapon to high power and fired twice, blasting her corpse into pieces. Not bothering to look back, he strode out of the sanctum.

Prim's childish voice rang out behind him in a delicate, sing-song tone.

"I will be waiting for you, Reaper. You will come to me. We are meant to be together!"


	28. Fallen Angel

**A/N: This story is rapidly coming to a close, and I must say to those who have stuck through it all, thank you. It most definitely is not turning out how you would expect, and as I have promised again and again, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. But for those who are familiar with my other work, it won't be a clean-cut happy ending. Since I am so close to the end of this portion of the story, it has been brutal trying to push it out. Doesn't help that I devoted 138 hours of the past two months to a single playthrough of an incredibly popular handheld fantasy game (damn you and your adorable characters, Fire Emblem!) and have succumbed to writing out an entirely incoherent and non-storylined slice-of-life style retelling of it. That may or may not get posted. Not sure. My main goal right now is trying to keep only one story publishing at a time.**

 **Reviewers-  
** **DanteInfernus** – She wasn't the source of the poison in Thorn. That came before her. Luu-Luu had a brave ending, which I figured she needed since her character has so much spunk. The last characters certainly have their work cut out for them.  
 **Janne Rolfe Jalandoni** – Ave Imperator indeed!  
 **Sperance** – Virtuoso is definitely growing into its skin, pardon the pun. So Virtuoso is absolutely Slaaneshi, but that doesn't mean everything warpy around it has to be. That weird warp rift came from the explosion of the "Greenwyrd." If you are familiar Warhammer Fantasy lore (or just plain Skaven lore) you might know what this is.  
 **Ekurman** – I'm doing great. You could say were are at about 2am if you are looking for an over view of how dark the night is, and when the light will come. It's super dark right now, and the pain is not at an end, but there will be light in the morning.  
 **Zorix** – He's pure Slaanesh. Slaanesh isn't limited to sex, drugs, and alcohol. It especially likes poisons. Poisons like the kind that drive an entire country mad with hunger for a very particular taste.  
 **Abdiel Amaro** – Burning? Burning is good. Burning is probably the best option for most of Eostia at his point. I can promise you there is nothing Imperial coming this way. It will not be a shining victory.  
 **ManwithaPlan113** – Ara Ara, Louk Shannegh. Chapter 30, you say… should I take that as a challenge?  
 **Ddastan** – It is certainly depressing to write, too, but I promise it will get better.  
 **DarkQueenOriga** – Vult would be a better governor than half the Imperium has, most likely. His whole Sex Empire is basically perfect for the Imperuim. The overwhelming tithe of bodies would make the Administratum very happy.  
 **Guest** – I mean, if you can look at a face-shifting demon and call it hot, that's your prerogative.  
 **Disciple of Ember** – The good guys took a huge hit here. And yes, this means that Virtuoso's actual army has one less place to be distracted by. The walls are closing in, and Louk still has no plan. The 'fire' is spreading faster than he can hope to contain it, let alone put it out at this point. On the note of Virtuoso's yandere vibes, there is a very serious reason why Louk had told Olga that immortality is invincibility. Can you imagine how hard the daemons of the warp would go for a soul they can torture for eternity? I had considered giving Luu-Luu even more snark, but did not want to blend her with Louk's past snarky midget companion too much. She did get a decent end, though, a better one than most of the Shields at this point. The situation really has snowballed, and now there is just one fighting Shield on the front lines. Poor Claudia…  
 **Inquisitor** – The light of exterminatus has a final say in all arguments, I would think.  
 **SomeGuyOverHere** – The Shields have been getting slaughtered, for lack of a better term. And yes, they really have been only an inconvenience at the best. But that is all humanity is to daemons. An inconvenience. It is exceptionally rare to find one that is a true threat, but why fight that threat when you can simply go around it? Virtuoso is far too clever by half, and also is holding onto a world that it has sole rights to, in its own twisted mind. It isn't going to risk that by challenging the one opponent that could conceivable hurt it. Not until it is ready, at least. Louk knows that, and perhaps this past chapter forced him to realize it. Either way, I agree that Louk did not sound like his usual self, and that is a troubling thought. As for the path of the Radical… I can guarantee he is firmly in that path regardless of future actions.  
 **Guest 2** – The beastfolk and halfings were not based in Thorn, but below that country. They are next on the chopping block.  
 **IcEzra** – sprays Virtuoso with water. "Bad Daemon! Bad! Stop humping the Main Character!"  
 **thetyrant67** – If a battlebarge appeared, Louk would just get blown up in the orbital bombardment.  
 **THOT Slayer** – I mean, yes. But which one?

Apologies for any weird formatting. The document spazzed hard when transferred from Word to Drive, then even harder when going from Drive to here.

* * *

 **Ken, The White Citadel**

He returned without fanfare or announcement. It was nothing specifically about him, no slight or insult offered. There was little fanfare in any arrival these past dreary days. The White Citadel had become a quiet place. Ken itself had become a quiet place. With each day refugees arrived and petitioned for entrance, coming from both east and west. Though locked away in the safety of the White Citadel, Olga heard the whispers. Thorn fallen, its populace disappeared. Claudia's desperate battles against a horde of demons, more crazed and aggressive than ever before, and her slow, stubborn retreat. Loss after loss, cities razed and pillaged. Like the world was crumbling in the palm of a monstrous deity.

The mood reflected on her host. Celeste Lucross, The Goddess Reborn, had become a shadow of her former self. The light no longer danced in her presence. The rooms no longer grew warm for her appearance. A depressed melancholy had its grip twisted tight in her soul, and she hardly mustered a smile without difficulty anymore. Olga saw it in the slump of her shoulders, the sorrow and agony in her eyes. More often than not she could be found in solitude, watching over her city on a lonely balcony or sitting in a garden, her dress dirty and her feet grubby.

And Grace… Grace was lost in her grief. Her sister-by-marriage had shut herself in her room, Louk's room, after the death of her close friend. She did not come out, had not come out. Olga arranged for food to be brought to her regularly, but often she found the meals lying cold on the floor of the hallway. Her sobs reached Olga's sensitive ears through the door when she passed by. As bitter as Olga felt towards that woman, she had suffered enough for one life. Losing another one so dear had torn open a great wound in Grace, and it was unlikely she would heal from it. Sometimes, long life was a curse rather than a blessing.

They were all suffering. The land was suffering. But they had a hope, in Louk Shannegh. She firmly believed that he would end this, that he would defeat the monster Virtuoso. And if he did not, she had her own ideas for a way to solve this calamity. Hers was a near impossibility, a last effort that could only be drawn from insanity and madness. It was her madness, and she claimed it proudly. For what was the Dark Queen of Garan if not a madwoman claiming powers far beyond her rightful ability. The power to control the Wyrdstone. To hold the demons in an iron grasp and bend them to her will. To stare in the face of… hell, and come away unscarred.

He returned without fanfare. But an hour after he entered the gates of the White Citadel, he as announced.

Olga started at the sound. A dolorous, sorrowful tolling of the White Citadel's bell. It tolled four times, and she frowned at the unexpected noise. It was early morning, not the time for the bells to ring. She sat poised in her chair, her comb still buried in her hair, counting the time that passed after it rang out over the city. At thirty seconds, the bell tolled again. Once. A heavy weight settled in her heart, and her comb slipped from her fingers.

A mourning bell. Announcing the death of a great hero or leader.

Anxiety flooded her veins. She gasped as the bell rang a second time. Forgetting the last few strands of knotted hair, hidden deep within her locks, she slid to her feet and hurried for the door. It took her a moment to collect herself at the door, to force down the fear that crept through her. The bell tolled a third time, and the weight of it struck her like a physical blow.

Three bells. Three heroes of Eostia fallen. Her hands were shaking. Three. It was an irrational fear. Olga had watched Louk Shannegh die before. And there were stories of his death from several other accounts. The man was unkillable. The bells could not be ringing for him. That was what she told herself. But she could not steady her hands, and they trembled as she gripped the doorknob.

"Steady yourself" Olga whispered, ashamed of her weakness. It was coming out more and more these days. As her power faded to a fictional shadow of its former glory, so too did her control, her poise. Olga was afraid. She was terrified. But it did no one any good to see it. There were too many others living in fear, consumed by their nightmares. She would have to be strong, she told herself. As strong as she had been in the miserable century spent in Garan.

Louk Shannegh needed her to be strong.

But Louk Shannegh did not need her.

Her fingers tightened on the knob, frozen with a stabbing tightness in her chest. It was a silent argument she had waged within herself ever since that horrible day. She refused to believe it, but no amount of anger or denial could shake the crushing truth of it. Louk Shannegh had gone to Grace. Did go to Grace. She had thought, in her most private musings, that he could be the one for her. After cloaking herself in sin and misery and horrors, Olga knew that she was a poisoned fruit, a bitter representation of all that was wrong with the world. She had not expected to find any sort of hope for herself. She had planned on it. Then Goddess-damned Louk Shannegh appeared in her life, and everything she thought she knew was upended in the nightmare that was Virtuoso and its ruthless hunter. She had dared to hope there was hope for her. She had dared to imagine what their life could be like, once this was all over.

She should have known better. It was a childish fantasy, an immature infatuation. Olga was not a desirable woman. She never would be. Not as a mate, as a lover. Though she was well aware how she stirred the lusts of men and women alike, as any elf did, that was all she was seen as. Something pretty, untouchable. Not like Grace. Not like the woman who had stolen her brother's heart, and now held the man she had desired.

It would be wrong to say she hated Grace. Even without the tragedy of Anna's death, Olga could not bring herself to hate the woman that led her brother to an ignoble and early death. Pity, perhaps, but only for the suffering she had endured. They would never be friends. Olga did not have friends and never would. No, Olga did not hate Grace. She hated the demons that pillaged and raped and slaughtered her kindred. She hated the humans of Eostia that enslaved her kind. She hated the creature Virtuoso who was destroying everything she knew.

She hated herself for not doing more to slaughter the demons in Garan.

She hated herself for not begging her brother to abandon their father's army in Mournival.

She hated herself for falling in love.

A quiet rapping on her door tore Olga from her self-loathing. Startled by the unexpected sound, she took a step back from the door and smoothed her dress. After a moment's indecision she returned to her chair and took up her comb. She could not allow herself to be seen in such weakness. The sharks were circling, seeking a vulnerability in her defenses. With each refugee column, the dark looks that followed her multiplied. The White Guard soldiers who guarded her grew more threatening, the calls for her to be put on trial and held accountable grew louder. Celeste was protecting her. And she was suffering for it. She was suffering for so many things.

"Olga."

The voice on the other side of the door gave her pause. She hesitated, comb buried in her hair, heart hammering in her chest. A strong, gruff voice, one she had not heard in several days. He had returned.

Taking a slow, calming breath, Olga counted to five in her head and replied. "Enter."

The door swung open, and Olga wondered how he would appear this time. On his last return, bearing the sad news that caused the mourning bell to ring for the first time a decade, he had been disheveled, dirty, bloodied. It had been a shock to see him so… worn. Now he had returned, and the bell tolled three times. Her heart quickened with apprehension. What new atrocity had he battled through?

"Olga." Louk Shannegh stepped into her room, and his presence was suffocating. It wrapped over her like a warm blanket, and she closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to enjoy the familiar comfort his presence brought. It was constricting, enclosing. If his mere existence made her feel this safe, how much more so if she was wrapped in his arms, her smaller body curled against his-

"Louk." She set her comb down and opened her eyes. This Louk Shannegh she remembered fondly. Clad in fresh clothes under his well-worn jacket. His face scrubbed, but dotted with stubble on his jaw and throat. That fantastical sword on one hip, and the lightning weapon on the other. He was… handsome, in his dark and brooding way. His harrowing gaze swept the room as if searching for someone. Always the hunter, always on the lookout for danger.

"I wanted to see you." He stood a respectable distance away, watching her with neutral expression. His eyes were lined and heavy, she saw. Each time she saw him, he appeared more tired. Though less outwardly battered, there was a haunting specter behind his carefully set mask.

"Your concern is appreciated."

After his return from the disaster in Ur, Olga's mercenary guard Diane had been released to rejoin her company at the border fort. With Chloe attending Louk on his hunt for Maia, she had been left without close allies. It was fitting for him to check on her, and that was all. A man conducting his duty. Her jaw tightened at the thought, a rueful sigh working into her throat but proceeding no further. Louk Shannegh was a man of eminent commitment to duty.

The question burned in her, the need to know who had died. She did not see Chloe at his side. That meant little. Certainly she was not important enough in Celeste's eyes to be granted a bell of mourning. But had she fallen too? She needed to know, but he would have told her. The man who had told her such precious things, such secret things, would not hide that from her. So she remained silent, and two lapsed into an uncomfortable staring match.

"How is Grace?"

Her mood soured further, and she chided herself for it. His question was logical, and reasonable. She could not hold anger for his worry. The woman was his, now, after all. "She is still in mourning."

Louk nodded, and his attention shifted elsewhere. "You look to be in good health. Have you had any trouble?"

"None of note." She turned in her chair, facing him. "The usual snide remarks and hateful glances. It is to be expected."

"It isn't right" he muttered.

"None of what is happening in Eostia is right. That is why you are here, is it not? To right the wrongness that infects this land."

He did not give her an answer. Louk's mouth opened, closed, opened… and closed again. Whatever words he wanted to say, it was not the right time. She felt some disappointment in his silence. Even were it to talk about the stones of the fortress, she would have loved to hear him speak. It was a rare thing, and precious to her.

"If you see Chloe about, I have a job for her." He bowed uncertainly, then turned and stepped out of her room.

Olga allowed the faintest hint of a smile on her lips, now that his back was turned. She stared off after him, wondering how to find an excuse to call him back into her room, to have even a few more seconds of his presence. Already she felt the comforting warmth of his aura fading away, and she was desperate to have more of it. She called out after her savior. "And if you see her, please let her know I require her assistance. I have missed her skill with the comb."

Her words were meant to be light-hearted, as close to a joke as she would permit. They could not have had more of the opposite effect intended. Louk Shannegh froze in her doorway, his shoulders stiffening.

"What do you mean?"

"She has exceptional skill with a comb" Olga explained, confused by his reaction. "Now that she is back, I would ask her to resume assisting me with m-"

"How long has she been gone?"

She blinked, and felt a sliver of uncertainty wedge itself deep into her heart. Her protector turned, and there was no sign of amusement or mirth on his face. Just a cold, grim seriousness.

"She… she went with you to Thorn, did she not? I have not seen her since the day Maia… since the day you left."

"Chloe did not accompany me" Louk told her.

Olga's composure did not crack. The strength left her legs and she sank into her chair, but she did not crack. A small sound escaped her lungs, a heavy sigh that spoke volumes in the intimacy of their conversation. All at once the fear and terror she had held down with brute willpower came crushing against her, washing through the corridors of her mind and filling her head with a despair she had refused to acknowledge for so long.

But she did not crack.

 **-v-**

"Sir, you can't go- you can't go in there!"

The secretary to John Mandeville, a pretty young woman bedecked with ostentatious jewels that cost more than an entire village's wealth, moved to block his path. She attempted to do what the four guards outside the Mandeville estate had tried. Then what the two men at the door, and six other guards now lying groaning in the commons had all tried. A dozen clamoring servants and guards chased in his wake, all eager to tell him to stop but none willing to join their fellow servants left in his wake.

He did not bother telling her to move. He had not warned the guards either. Grabbing the finely-dressed woman by the shoulder, he shoved her aside with enough force that she went tumbling against her desk with a shriek.

The heavy oak doors that led to John Mandeville's study were six inches thick, decorated with gold-capped etchings and reinforced with irons bars worked into the sturdy construction. The lock was an ingenious contraption that dropped a four inch wide iron bar into place, operable by a child's strength from the inside of the study. Should the place come under siege, Louk had no doubt there were other reinforced defenses that could be added to the already formidable construct.

His boot foot shattered the lock and threw both doors wide open.

Storming into the merchant's study, Louk Shannegh put a hand on his sword and swept the room for signs of danger. It was a typical study, with a rich blue carpet worn in notable areas of use. The musty scent of old books filled his nostrils, stemming from wall-spanning book shelves the covered the left and right sides of the room. A coffee table was immediately to his right, flanked by cushioned chairs and set with fine cutlery and dishes that were as elegant as they were fragile. One the far side, tall windows gave a generous view of the city, with the towering White Citadel splitting the vista down the center. Light poured warmly into the room, expunging the shadows and revealing the ink-stained wooden desk the merchant ran his empire from, currently stacked with papers and reports and inkpots. It was an innocuous room, an innocent room.

It reeked of death, of greed, of a monster.

John Mandeville glanced up from the accounts he was inspecting. Appearing entirely unbothered by Louk's sudden and explosive arrival, he set the papers down and steepled his fingers before his face. There was an air of weariness about the merchant, like a teacher whose petulant student had just interrupted class.

"That is an expensive door, Master Shannegh."

"I'm sorry, Sir Mandeville." The secretary limped in after Louk, clutching at her stomach. Her voice was breathy, pained. Behind her were the swarm of servants and guards, who all stood around helplessly as this intruder disturbed their master. "He wouldn't be stopped."

"No, I suspect that not many things would stop the Goddess' bloodhound." John Mandeville gestured dismissively to his servants. "You may leave us. Close the doors behind you, if you are able to."

They did, though their shocked muttering could be heard until the oak doors slid back into place. The merchant sighed, and tapped his chin with his forefingers as he studied the door. He was regarding Louk as an afterthought, a calculated move to show he was no afraid. His mistake.

"You will of course be held responsible for any physical injury incurred on my servants, and for repairs to the door."

Louk stalked closer, approaching the desk. His hand did not leave Durendal's grip. "Where is she?"

"Where is who?" The merchant's expression turned decidedly sour, and he held up his papers. "I am a busy man, Master Shannegh. If you are going to beat my servants and shatter my door, you could at least not waste my time with vague questions."

"Chloe?"

"Chloe." He gave a fair go of expressing confusion, and pretended to think over the name. It might have worked on an ordinary person. Louk could smell the lingering blood and stink of fear. "Ah, the dark elf. Half-elf, actually. The one that serves the Dark-"

"I am going to cut your hand off" Louk warned the man. "If you don't give me an answer."

"Well, she isn't here, as you can see." The merchant's smug reply told Louk that he had no fear. That he expected Louk to behave like a Goddess-fearing man with sensibilities and the rule of law. His second mistake. Louk was his own law. He cared nothing for Celeste's rules, nor did he care for reputation or order. Durendal inched from its scabbard just a little. The merchant eyed the gestured, and dismissed it as a bluff. "And I have not seen her today, if that is what you are wondering? Shouldn't she be in the White Citadel?"

"You are bleeding" Louk accused. He had smelled it instantly on entering the room. Covered, bandaged, coated with ointments, but only beginning to scar and close. "Why?"

"Oh, that?" Mandeville's face scrunched in surprise, his first real emotion. "It is nothing. A rebellious servant struck me. I have since fixed their attitude. You know servants these days. They get fanciful notions and dream of freedom as if living in a spacious house and having consistent meals is something to be-"

Louk drew Durendal in the time it took John Mandeville to blink. The sword lashed out then down, moving so swiftly the papers in the center of the merchant's desk fluttered into the air, turning his organized desk into a mess. The merchant started to protest, but his words sputtered to a halt when Louk gripped the fine line his sword had cut through the thick wood and pulled half the desk aside. With no obstacle in his path, Louk marched up to the merchant and grabbed him by the collar.

The merchant let out a stifled cry of alarm as Louk dragged the man out of his chair and shoved him against the gaping central window. Made of thick and finely-crafted glass, it would hold against a strong shove, but with Louk's strength it would be an easy thing to hurl the man into the street below. John Mandeville realized that far too late.

"Easy, easy," the merchant begged, grasping weakly at Louk's hand. "I am just an old man. What threat am I to you?"

Louk slammed Durendal's pommel against the window. A fist-sized chunk shattered and cascaded to the floor. Veiny cracks spread through the rest. "Where!"

"I am the victim here" Mandeville mewled. "I was attacked, and you are threatening my life!"

The man's eyes flicked to his right, an unconscious tell. Hurling Mandeville to the floor, Louk stepped over his trembling body and approached the blank and unassuming wall. It was the only part of that wall not covered in a book shelf. He inspected it, noted the fine hair-line seam that ran from the baseboard to the right height, then over, and down again. He had seen it when he entered, but without the merchant's tell there was no reason to assume it was anything but a safe room.

"Open it" Louk ordered.

The merchant clambered to his feet, palms bloody and cut, and eyed Louk with manic fury. "The Goddess will hear of this! You can't do this."

"I don't answer to her" Louk growled. His sword came up, and the merchant paled. "Open. It."

He did, trembling as a leaf in a gale. There was a panel on the wall, and when he pressed the suspicious section swung inwards to reveal a secret room. The reek of death and rot spilled out, flooding the room in a river of acrid stench. John Mandeville retched and buried his nose in his sleeve.

Louk grabbed the merchant by his collar and shoved him inside.

It was not a safe room, he saw, but a torture room. The walls and ceiling were made of iron, and the wooden ceiling was sealed with pitch. There was little in the way of ventilation, save for a small hole in the corner that led upwards. And nothing for insulation either. The blue carpeting was stained a dark reddish much, and the mildew mingled with the scent of blood and putridity.

He looked past the walls and floor, past the devices lining the walls and the tables full of hooks and saws and screws. There was a body lying curled up over a block, its arms bound behind its back at an awkward angle, dried blood crusted under gaping eye sockets. Its shoulder joints were grey, the bruising and discoloration from tears faded now that the blood had ceased flowing. Gore matted its ragged, clumped hair, drawing attention to clipped ears.

"I… she tried to kill me" Mandeville declared, his lungs choking on the awful stench of decay. "It was my right as her owner!"

Blood and gore was not the only contribution to the horrific smells. Feces stained the corpse's thighs, dried at the foot of the block. The stink of urine rose from the carpet, and as he circled the body he saw the dried streaks of other fluids, and the savaged flesh between her hips.

"I was well wit-"

Louk turned, and Mandeville died. The merchant's scream cut short as Louk's finger clawed into his chest, gripping ribs and tearing them out of his chest. Mandeville groveled on the ground, grasping desperately at his innards as organs spilled from the gaping wound. It took him minutes to die, as his heart wallowed in the pool of feces and urine of his victim. Louk watched him suffer, watched the light bleed out from his eyes, watched his life fade until his heart ceased to beat.

Stepping out of the room, he went to the windows and grabbed hold of a curtain, pushed to the side on such a fine and sunny day. A simple tug brought the whole thing crashing down. The noise was so great that Mandeville's secretary peered inside, unable to contain her apprehension. On seeing the broken desk, the shattered window, and the bloodsoaked hands of Louk Shannegh she screamed and disappeared. He ignored her. Louk took the pristine curtain fabric and went back into the secret room. The small body felt heavier than a boulder as he picked it up, wiped it clean as best he could, and then wrapped it in the rest.

The guards stormed Mandeville's study, driven by blind terror for their master. Louk killed them all, tearing their bodies limb from limb. He killed the secretary, hiding under her desk as she panted in fear. He killed every living soul he encountered on his way out of the estate. Those unlucky enough to cross his path saw only the simmering rage of hell smoldering in his inhuman eyes, and they perished in the fury of a dead god's wrath.

 **-v-**

A team of city patrolmen trudged after him, eyeing the white gates in awe. Though they lived so very close, and had often walked in sight of the walls of the White Citadel, they had never been inside. Few had, though it did not feel so exclusive to one who lived in its tower. To these simple men it was as if entering their goddess' own home, and excitement showed on their face, overcoming even the dreadful stench of the corpse lying on the cart they pulled.

It had taken little convincing to pull them from their duties. A grim look, the hushed whispers of passersby that recognized the infamous Reaper. That, and he paid them each a silver coin for their troubles. Taking the small cart they were dragging back from the blacksmiths, they took his small burden and followed as he led them to the gates. No questions were asked, though out of disinterest or fear he was not sure. It was better that way.

His hands were sticky with the blood his dozens. Some of them had deserved it. Most had not. He knew that, and the thought burned white-hot in the ruined tatters of a soul he clung to. It was so very hard to stop, once the blood came out. Stop the hunger, the rage, the animalistic need to destroy. And he was tired. Tired of the hunt, tired of fighting and losing.

He just wanted it to be over.

Welcome to Eternity.

The words had been spoken with pride, with expectation of gratitude and adoration. His fingers clenched at the memory, and how he had raged. How he had thrown the man to the ground, squeezed his fingers to tight that his muscles tore. He remembered the helplessness, the fear. The condemnation of an impossible promise that he knew had to be true. Louk Shannegh had died, time and time again. He died of hunger, he perished in battle, he took his own life in despair. It was never an ending; always a beginning. The beginning of a new life. A new torturous existence where everything crumbled around him.

The worst thing about immortality was the knowledge that it would never end. That the shattered corpse in the cart was just one in an endless line that stretched infinitely forwards. And the anxiously waiting woman on the steps of the White Citadel was just one of a thousand faces that had looked to him for protection, and would be forgotten like so many others in this hell-cycle of failure and failure.

He wondered if it would be different, this time. If he died here, were the rules the same? This world was so very different than his own, and he had to wonder if it might grant him some escape. He had tried it, already. But those had been the simple deaths. There were many ways to die, many ways to be killed. Some were worse that others. Some more… permanent. Would he be doomed to come back to this damned world time and time again? He could think of little worse than being stuck on a daemon's world. Because this world was going to fall. There was nothing he could do to prevent it. The daemon had made that clear. It moved to quickly, was in too many places. Had he a year to prepare, he might have been able to hold it off. But it had struck fast, and it had struck hard. Half the lands of Eostia had already fallen, and what remained of their warriors were being butchered in every engagement.

The guards at the gate did not challenge his entry. No one dared challenge his entry. The rumors no longer were whispered in secret. At first they had been innocuous, just silly rumors that he had seduced the Goddess and become her consort. The idle chatter of idle minds. More recently, the rumors had grown darker. That he was the source of the great calamities sweeping the world. That he was a herald of woe. It was a foolish man to stand in his way. The White Guard were not fools. Not after they had carried their comrade's corpse out of the White Citadel, his body broken from daring to challenge his authority.

He had yet to be held accountable for that. It was unlikely he would be. The world at large was suffering from too many tragedies, and their leader was in no position to condemn him. Celeste withered under the impossible press of defeats and horrors that assailed her people. She had a good heart, a beautiful heart, but she was not a strong leader. Not like he had thought at first. He could not blame her, of course. No one could blame her for crumbling in the face of the daemon. There were precious few that could stand, and no one in this world had been prepared for the onslaught of hellish wonder that Virtuoso unleashed.

His path veered left on passing the gate. Aiming to avoid the entrance altogether, he guided the quiet procession in the direction of the burial grounds, a small garden where a precious few lay entombed in elegant marble chambers. There would normally be a ceremony, a funeral for the dead. This was one he did not look forward to arranging, and doubted it worth the effort. There was only one soul in the White Citadel who would mourn the broken thing on the cart. And that was a conversation he did not have the strength for.

"That's the Dark Queen" one of the patrolmen muttered. The guards gestured, all turning to stare.

Louk made the mistake of stopping.

It was meant to be a short glance, a quick check to see if she was watching. Louk knew that Olga would spot him; her eyes were sharp and she knew his form. Were she to look on his face, to read his expression, he knew damn well what she would see.

As they had claimed, the Dark Queen stood at the top of the stairs, her clothing pristine and her expression listless and severe. There was no trace of the terrified woman in her chair, the horrified face when she realized that her previous companion was missing. The dark elf was, as always, perfect and unassailable to the world. She exuded a strength and power that made men kneel, that told all who saw her that she may be a prisoner in name, but she was by no means helpless.

That proud, powerful woman caught his cautious gaze. Their eyes locked from a hundred paces, piercing the crowd and distance as if they were in each other's arms. Louk flinched. Throne help him, but he flinched, because he knew what she saw. She saw his shame, his anger, his guilt. Olga Discordia unraveled his soul with his deep amber eyes, and his secret opened up for her. She saw this, and more, in that brief, unprotected gaze.

And Louk Shannegh saw Olga Discordia's heart shatter.

The dark elf ran. She rushed down the steps, her expression peeling the defenses and control she had expertly maintained for a century. Her slippers fell off, lost in her dashing speed, abandoned as surely as her dignity as tears formed in her eyes, as her hair spilled free of its elegant braids. She ran to the cart, nearly stumbling on her own skirt as she pulled it carelessly to the side, heedless of the mud she dragged it through. Her mouth opened in a silent cry.

Moving quickly, he stepped in front of her, caught the dark elf around the waist and pulled her close. She screamed, her words lost as the numbness settled on his ears. Her nails scratched at his arms. Her voice cried out, muffled and distant. He held her close, pressing her face into his chest. She pushed against his arms, but she was weak. When she could not break free she gouged at his face, frantic to push past him, to go to the cart that the patrolmen were hurriedly taking to the cemetery.

Louk Shannegh held Olga Discordia as she raged, as she wept. He held her as her screams went hoarse, her voice faded to hollow whispers. Her tears wet his shirt until she had no tears left to give. His arms held her up when the strength left her legs and she slumped limp in his arms. Tears burned acid-hot in his own eyes, and he held her as tight as he dared.

There was no bell of mourning. Just a woman grieving for her lost child, held in the arms of the man that had let her die.


	29. The Goddess Reborn

**A/N: For those who have stuck it out this long through all the pain and suffering, I salute you. The night is almost over, and the dawn is rapidly approaching. Buckle yourselves in, because I hope to have this wrapped up by Thanksgiving. If things were dialed up to 11 before this chapter, its going over 9000 real quick. Surprised to see how many Guest reviews there were on this chapter. Regardless of whether people liked it or hated it, I appreciate that people are engaged enough to post a review.**

 **Reviewers –**

 **Dragonheart51 –** I mean, some 40k stories have endings that aren't "bad"…  
 **Guest 1 –** Thank god an anonymous internet reader is the first on to realize that Louk Shannegh clearly has been hiding his omniscient Reader Knowledge from everybody. How dare he not capitalize on information that he has no way of knowing without tapping into Deus Ex Machina. Seriously, though, you do realize that there is absolutely nothing unusual about Mandeville's behavior compared to the Imperium. If anything, it is tame compared to most of the corruption present in the upper echelons of Imperial society.  
 **DanteInfernus –** RIP indeed. It isn't a 40k story until everybody's unhappy.  
 **Chosen -One-92 –** I mean, if you follow that logic then they should have murdered every merchant in the land, thereby crippling their economy, throwing the whole landscape into turmoil, and utterly gutting the integrity of the seven regions. But hey, why look too deeply into it?  
 **Guest 2 -** She's dead, Jim.  
 **Abdiel Amaro –** It won't be a clean cut deus ex machina, I can promise you that. I actually hinted pretty darn heavily about the ending a wayyyyyyyyys back. I appreciate the understanding that Louk isn't a Mary Sue winning-all-the-time hero. He has very, very limited abilities, and is absolutely punching about a dozen classes over his own weight right now.  
 **Guest 3 –** Where are you getting the assumption that Mandeville needs a cane in order to walk? Are you drawing the logic of a laughably plotted H-game and trying to pick and choose what parts of that absurdity are genuine in this story? Because that just seems silly.  
 **Guest 4 –** I am pretty sure you are also Guest 3, but either way you are applying information from 'not this setting' and inserting it into 'this setting.' What slaves are you talking about? Where?  
 **Guest 5 –** I mean, The God-Emperor cares not from whom the blood flows.  
 **SomeGuyOverHere –** I was sitting on when to allow Olga to 'break' for quite some time. I was trying to portray how the cracks were gradually appearing, but then Boom! And yes, there is the very serious question of what happens after? Assuming Louk wins (because good guys always win in 40k, right?), how does he get back home? Who knows? Heehee  
 **DarkQueenOriga –** Yes, actually, you are spot on with that assessment. That _is_ where he lost. Not necessarily for withholding information, but lack of communication and not taking command left too much in flux, and with people not understanding the danger they faced they stumbled into defeat after defeat while he chased after them trying to clean up their disasters. Mandeville could be foreseeable, but you have to remember that it was also very avoidable. Had Chloe not gone after him, there would have been no trouble.  
 **ZE GOD HAND –** Glad you love/hate it.  
 **Guest 6 –** All good. Trust me, I know it's rough.  
 **EnriksD8 –** I like that title name. It's a good name.  
 **Disciple of Ember –** He doesn't have mementos on him at this point in time. I would imagine he is careful with those, seeing as how he has admitted to dying numerous times. But yes, he likely has some precious memories stored up. Fire Emblem absolutely is a crack addiction. I have managed to break away from playing it, but not from writing up a story idea that has me sprinting to finish this story before I have another 9-month hiatus. But anyway… lol, it is easy to forget that Louk refuses to consider himself a 'good' person. He even said as much when he first met Prim. He has plenty of good qualities, but that does not make him a good person. I mean, he kind of has a dead daemon burning in his soul for eternity. That puts a damper on goodness. Chloe's death was a rough one, for sure. I like her character a lot, and was not eager to get that chapter written. I also ended up streamlining the ending. Initially there was going to be a lot more of Olga freaking out, but I decided it was more powerful to leave it as is.  
 **Guest 7 –** But the Seraphon are lame… just kidding. They are adorable murder-daemons now.  
 **ManwithaPlan113 –** Oh, they will die. The glory part is questionable.  
 **Nuke King –** Louk has lived quite a long time. He is so intimately familiar with that saying he practically recites it as a morning prayer.  
 **Guest 8 –** If I actually pull this off, it will be the biggest twist since Twister came out. If not, you people will probably burn my IP Address at the stake.

* * *

 **The White Citadel**

There were so many empty chairs.

Celeste rested in her seat at the head of the council table, struggling to hold her eyes open. Sleep had not come easily. It never did anymore. Her throat scratched with dried irritation, her eyes ached from the tears she shed. A dull throbbing in her skull reminded her that she was dehydrated, but she could not bring herself to touch the wineglass by her right hand.

Claudia Levantine stood at the crystal windows, gazing over the city. The knight commander looked even worse than Celeste felt. The auburn-haired woman was not wearing her armor. She could not. The damage it had received in the past month had rendered it unusable, and she was having it repaired by the blacksmiths. In her armor's place she wore a thick hauberk of woven scale and cotton. The face had aged a dozen years, it seemed, and the grim set of her lips had not lifted.

"It won't be long" Claudia whispered, placing a hand on the window.

What was left of her force, an army in name only, had retreated to Ken. Feoh, Ur, and Geofu were lost, for all intents and purposes. Claudia's command suffered rout after rout, unable to stem the crushing tide of demons and men sweeping south. The demons alone had strength of numbers they had never imagined. The incursions during Olga's reign seemed like skirmish bands compared to the endless tide of flesh spilling into Eostia. Even then, they might have stood a chance. But their tactics were outdated, useless. The Black Dog traitors and those that joined the demon legions knew every trick, every tool. Shield Walls were torn down by grappling hooks. Magicians blew gaping holes in their lines.

Neither of the women had ever thought a day like this would come. Here they stood now, two souls in a room designed for seven. The gaping emptiness of the other seats tightened Celeste's throat, and she once again found herself tearing up as she imagined the dead.

She was so very tired.

Her visions might have saved them, could have helped Claudia battle their foe and perhaps force stalemates where defeat had sent them running. But she had no visions anymore. Scrying the land exhausted her, and she could with effort find the location of the foe. It was not the same as detecting their movements days, weeks even before they occurred. That helplessness riddled her with guilt, and she felt every death on the battlefield as a scar in her soul. It was her duty to protect them, and she could not.

"How many" Celeste asked, dreading the answer.

Her most trusted companion did not answer for a moment. Claudia's expression tightened, her eyes growing distant as she ran the numbers in her head. At last she spoke, and the answer was what Celeste expected, and feared.

"I can claim twenty thousand to defend the walls, but I cannot guarantee they will fight. They are demoralized. Were you to join them, perhaps they might stand firm."

"That is not an option" the only other occupant growled. Louk Shannegh sat at the far end of the table, his attention buried in Claudia's reports. Not bothering to glance up, he added an explanation that neither woman needed. They all knew it was not an option. Were Celeste to go out in her current state, it would do more harm than good to the city's morale. She had not felt so weak and pathetic since the fall of Mournival. "We cannot risk Celeste being killed on the walls."

"If we don't hold the walls…" Claudia's grimace deepened at the thought.

A heavy sigh passed Celeste's lips. The Goddess reached for her wine glass, but lacked the energy to pick it up. Instead she drew her fingers in a lazy symbol on the table. Her companions looked over to her, both drawn to the near-silent squeak of her finger on the lacquered wood.

"You should rest" Louk Shannegh advised her. The man who wore dark circles under his eyes, whose shoulders were slumped from exhaustion; that man was telling her to rest. She nearly smiled, but did not have the strength. Instead she tipped her head and sighed again.

"It does not help. When I sleep I see their faces."

Claudia's armored form came to her side. Taking the high elf's hand, Claudia eased it back into Celeste's lap and knelt by her side. The worry on the knight's face tore at Celeste's heart. This was not the same worry she was so used to: caring and concerned. Genuine fear revealed itself in Claudia's open expression. "You need to rest, Celeste. We rely on you, we need you."

Her eyes remained on Louk Shannegh, and she wished he would say something. Even with the horrible things happening to her land, her people, she knew that he had a way out. The man might not have figured it out yet, but he would. Her dreams were not wrong. They were never wrong. She prayed he would have that spark of revelation soon. Her heart was already straining with the weight of loss.

"Just a little nap" Celeste whispered, leaning her head against the chair.

Strong hands eased her from her seat, and Celeste slipped her knees on the cold, hard floor of the council chamber. Guided by Claudia's strength, she placed her head on the woman's lap and closed her eyes. A thick cloak fell on her, covering her in warmth. She liked to imagine it was Louk Shannegh's cloak.

"Sleep, Celeste" her knight companion ordered, her voice soft and unexpectedly frail.

As she drifted into the dreamless void, she thought she heard voices, Claudia's and Louk's.

 _How long has she been like this?_

 **-v-**

"How long has she been like this" Claudia demanded, her scowl fixed on the lurking shape of the Reaper.

"Since Alicia and Prim, I'd expect." The man gave a dismissive shake of his head. "I haven't exactly been in the capital much either."

Anger welled in her chest, and she wanted to snap at the man. The Goddess Reborn's condition horrified Claudia on her return to Ken. Her skin was paler, an unhealthy pallor showing on her stretched face. Exhaustion did not begin to describe the high elf's state, and she looked ready to faint at a moment's notice. It had taken willpower to hold back her fears and tears at the sight of Celeste's dismal appearance. Her health was in a poor way, and the terrible worry that she was ill had struck Claudia speechless.

Despite that anger, she knew she could not condemn the man. News of Thorn had reached even her tent in Geofu, and she could only wonder at what horrors the man had seen. Everywhere they turned, they were losing, and badly at that. Now three of the seven territories were gone, overrun or erased from existence. Geofu had fallen; she just refused to admit it. Only a token force of knights remained in her homeland, fighting a retreating skirmish against the vanguard of the demon legion. Castle Levantine now stood as a bastion of the Black Dogs. To the north, Ansur was under siege. Without the leadership of Luu-Luu they were putting up a brave fight, but their forces were disorganized. It had taken Luu-Luu's strength of personality to band Ansur together. Now they were reduced to powerful, but small, warbands that battled and died alone.

Rad was the only territory besides Ken that was yet untouched, but she had heard the rumors there. That Black Dogs walked openly in Bold Fortune. Recruitment drives were being held in the streets, and after the city's power structure destabilized, courtesy of the death of the VarGolem family's top thug, the families that ruled the city were in open war. The situation had deteriorated past salvaging. Rad would be no help. And no mercenaries wanted to fight for a lost cause.

Lost cause. The words galled her, but she could not bring herself to think otherwise.

"You need to make her eat" the man advised. "And rest."

"What do you think I am doing?"

The rustle of paper alerted her to his movement. Chair legs scraped against the floor, then the man was stalking around the table, his gait heavy and determined.

"Your histories claim Celeste has the power to call down fire from heaven itself. Is that true, or an invention?"

"I do not know" Claudia admitted. "The story you speak of, it was before my time. Celeste is reluctant to use her power for harm, and I have not seen her wield anything like the power described in those stories."

"So we may or may not have a weapon. Wonderful." The man's tone was exasperated, his demeanor disrespectful. Claudia did not have the energy to reprove him. "Even if she does have that power, she couldn't use it in this state."

As if to accentuate his point, the Goddess stirred faintly in Claudia's lap. The knight clutched the high elf tight. Faint mewling groans faded into silence, and her heart calmed in her chest.

"Could you rest so easily" Claudia demanded. "With your friends dead and dying around you."

"I butchered my friends" Louk answered. The blunt claim struck her silent, and Claudia gaped at him in disbelief. "Killed them one at a time, tore them to pieces as they begged me to stop. I can assure you, Claudia, that I understand her distress."

"You…" Claudia did not know if the man lied to her. It did not matter. Nothing mattered except for Celeste, and stopping the demons. "You really are a monster, aren't you?"

Though he did not answer that, his silence was admission enough. Standing over the sitting knight, Louk Shannegh gazed down at the sleeping high elf and it seemed to Claudia like they were not alone in the room. An eerie tingling crept up her arms.

"Delegate your troops to your lieutenants. Until the enemy is in sight of the walls, I want you tending to Celeste. You are the only one I would entrust her to."

"It is not your place to-"

"I don't care." He silenced her with a glare. "As you said, we need her. She is worth more than half of your army, if not all of it. She is the most powerful magic user in Eostia."

"There… there is another" Claudia muttered. Her stomach soured, and she glanced away from the sleeping Goddess and the lurking Reaper.

"Olga."

"Yes." The words tasted bitter on her tongue. Swallowing her disgust, she told him what he already knew. "She is rumored to be an equal to Celeste."

" _Was_ an equal." Louk Shannegh picked up the Goddess' wine glass and drained it in one swig. The fact that he claimed a drink reserved for Celeste did not disturb him. "Not anymore."

"Her retainer, Chloe?" Claudia remembered the young thing. A beautiful and angry young woman. The two had been close, with Chloe trailing at Olga's heels like a trained guard dog. No, Claudia told herself. The dead deserved more respect than that. Chloe had been the Dark Queen's only companion amidst the hellish wastes of Garan. "Killed by Mandeville."

The man nodded faintly.

Claudia remembered that time she had found the pair on the balcony. It seemed ages ago, when the creature Virtuoso was yet unproven to exist and she had seen Louk Shannegh as a charlatan. She had been a fool. They all had been fools.

"I saw them together once" Claudia told him. Not that it would serve a purpose. A sliver of guilt settled on her as she replayed the encounter in her mind. John Mandeville standing next to the trembling half-elf, her face turned away to the city. The man's eternal smugness grating at her senses. She had thought nothing of it.

"Where?"

"The celebration of Olga's capture. The two were standing together on the balcony of the ballroom. I should have told you."

"You had no reason to." Louk shrugged as if it did not matter. The hard set of his eyes told her he was angry, but not with her.

"John Mand-"

"John Mandeville was an incredibly influential merchant. There was no reason to censure him or killed him over the sins of his past. He was scum, but he was useful. I should have kept a better eye on Chloe."

His tone brooked no argument. Claudia took a deep breath, preparing to press the issue if only to salve her guilt, but he cut her off.

"It doesn't matter who was at fault. Olga is in no place to fight a war. She hasn't been for some time."

There was a dangerous implication in his tone. Claudia picked it out instantly, and gazed at him with furrowed brows.

"How so?"

Louk Shannegh shifted his head just slightly, a nearly imperceptible motion that sent shadows racing across his features. His appearance struck her as uncomfortably sinister, more so than usual. But there was no danger from the man. Just a horrid sense of truth that she was not ready to hear.

"Olga Discordia has lost her magic."

 **-v-**

They woke her sometime in the evening. Claudia shook her gently awake, and the first thing Celeste noticed was the aroma of cooked chicken and salted fish. Her stomach growled hungrily at the thought of food, the first time in days. Under Claudia's careful supervision she ate a small meal and found herself much refreshed. The comfort of Claudia's presence soothed a small portion of her fears, and Celeste allowed herself to forget the crushing weight of sadness that had clung to her shoulders the past weeks.

When she finished eating Claudia escorted her back to her room. There were no official duties to conduct; few enough visitors came to the White Citadel anymore and she needed what little energy she had to maintain the protective barriers that kept Ken safe. Grateful for her friend's company, Celeste retired to her chamber, wrapped herself in the thick blankets that kept her warm in the cold winter night, and allowed herself to sleep once again.

That is what she told Claudia, at least. After the doors closed behind her Shield, Celeste sat up and let her blankets fall to her lap. The cold winter air filtered through the small portal beside the door to her personal study. It stung her arms and face, but she ignored it. That small meal had given her energy like she had not felt in days. She knew full well that such a luxury was rare these days, and determined to make the most of it. For too long she had been useless, crippled by her sorrow and fear. That horrible weight still gnawed at her, smothered her heart and threatened to push her back into a dreary melancholy.

"Not today" she whispered, reassuring herself that she had the strength. Her eyes closed slowly, and Celeste reached out to the magic of the Goddess Reborn.

Before she had undergone the Rite of Transcendence, Celeste wielded magic like any other. Delightful warmth filled her hands with each summoned chip of power, each spell cast to bring grass to dead earth or return water to a dry stream. Restoration had always been her love. It had matched well with Olga, whose dark elf blood inclined towards more passionate, aggressive magic. Once upon a time she had loved her magic, adored it.

The magic of the Goddess did not fill her with joy. She loathed it, feared it. There was no warmth in its touch. When Celeste called upon her godly powers she only felt cold. The chill of winter's night seeped through her arms, numbing her fingers and setting an awful taste in her mouth. Power made for a true immortal did not dwell in the body of a mortal without cost. Even as a high elf, the chosen of the Goddess, the power fought against her, rebelled at her call. It took effort to summon her power. It took sweat and tears that none could ever see.

Taking that power, wrapping it in her fingers and holding it close to her heart, Celeste accepted the biting touch. She let it trickle through her skin, spread through her body like fire burning a tree to cinders. It was the same every time. It always hurt. Her eyes burned with tears, her fingers clenched until blood stained her nails. It pulled away from her, straining at the leash she desperately tried to collar it with.

It was as if she was not worthy.

The self-conscious doubts had always lain heavy in her heart. Were it not for the proof she had wielded this power time and time again, she might have believed it. But she had always doubted herself. Always wondered if it was truly her power to take. Olga said it was. The dark elf had been there by her side, had gone to the priests before her and made sure that all was prepared. The thought of her oldest friend lying made her stomach sick, and she had never contemplated it as anything but a passing irrational fear. Olga had sworn that Celeste was the chosen one.

And yet it still felt wrong every time she wrestled with the power of the Goddess.

Slowly, the magic settled, its resistance fading as Celeste gripped it tight. Refusing to let it go, the high elf drew on the raw power of her magic and used it to cast her awareness far away. The world blurred and shifted before her eyes, hurtling past the walls of Ken, past the border of Geofu, through the mountains of Garan. Her vision into the blasted wastelands had been restricted once, when Olga held the throne. With Olga's fall came the fall of Olga's barriers, and Celeste could freely roam the hellscape her friend had turned the once-beautiful land into.

It had been such a beautiful land. The greenest fields, forests tended by studious elves, cities woven out of the earth as much as they were built by elven hand. It had been a land of miracles, of wonder and accomplishment beyond all but the dark elf lands to the north. They had spent so many years dancing and exploring through the crystal rivers. It was there that she had first met Olga, and there were so many good memories there.

The dead land passed under her, sprawling and lifeless. She ignored it, and the rivers of shapes that marked more demons marching towards Ken. The armies were terrible, their numbers near limitless. Is this what Olga had been doing? She knew what she had been told, and had scarcely believed it. But the truth of the sheer size of the Demon Legions astounded her still. During Olga's reign they had estimated the demons numbered no more than two hundred thousand throughout the land. A horrifying figure, but they came in rivulets and trickles that were manageable. Since her departure, since the daemon Virtuoso arrived…

She wondered if five hundred thousand was too small an estimate.

Her target lay ahead. The Black Fortress, Olga's once-home, the former seat of Garan's ruling family, rose from the wastelands like a sentry amidst the empty plains. There had been a city around it once. There had been many cities, upon a time. Those were all gone now, crushed into dust and ash. Only the Black Fortress remained. A cloak of darkness surrounded it, soaking the dim light that passed through Garan's perpetual clouds and burying the fortress in eternal shadow. Her skin crawled at the sight of it. She had been a guest there so many times, following Olga's eager steps as they explored the nooks and crannies of the halls.

Approaching the darkness, Celeste steadied her nerves and drew the magic tighter. The cold of her magic burned against the shadows of the fortress, pressing it back and purging it where she walked. The distant figures of demons and men prowling about its courtyard and walls all seemed to stare up at her. She knew they could not see her, but they would see the disturbance in the miasma of shadow that surrounded the fortress. So be it. They were no danger to her.

Her ethereal form alighted on the entrance of the fortress. A brutal-looking man stood nearby, and approached her cautiously. He sensed something in the air, and reached for his sword as if to defend himself from some unseen assailant.

Celeste studied the man's face. Though rough and lean, there was a manic strength in his eyes, a burning violet light hiding in the depths of his pupils. The faded and torn path of the Black Dogs mercenary company adorned his jacket, and his skin was marked with awful runes and symbols that made her weak and queasy.

She released just a slip of magic, a droplet amidst the river she held, and the man exploded in a shower of gore.

His comrades shrieked in terror and fled, leaving her alone in the courtyard. Celeste moved past the remains of the corpse, anger rising in her chest. The Black Dogs had been Eostia's protectors. She understood what had happened to them; Louk Shannegh had explained the true daemon's influence and how it subverted the minds of those it touched. But she could not forgive them. She could never forgive them. That anger burned white-hot inside her, and she channeled it into a furious blast of magic that shattered the proud doors of the Black Fortress.

She knew the way. She had walked it many times before. The Black Fortress had changed. The walls were oily and moved sinuously. She saw tortured bodies writhing on the ceilings, nailed to the stone and crying in agony. Carpets of skin covered the stone at her feet. Horrific statues moved and shimmered, because they were not statues at all but living beings coated in a waxy substance that rendered their features inert and empty. Awful sounds filled her ears, coming from the dark rooms where women cried out in agony and men grunted like animals.

The Black Fortress had become a capital of debauchery unlike anything she had seen. Her rage continued to grow, so hot that her spirit burned the very earth as she stalked towards the throne room. Orcs and humans alike burst into flame in her presence, the oil and blood on their bodies serving as eager fuel for the fires of her wrath. Statues burst and the shriveled remains of their occupants crumpled to the floor, released from their unnatural prisons. Skin curled and smoked, the walls shrieked loudly and died.

A great beast stood guard at the doors of the throne room.

It was an orc, but to simply call it that was to call Louk Shannegh a man. The beast stood nearly twice Celeste's own height, its limbs bound in muscles wider than her shoulders. A heavy snuffling breath brought hot clouds steaming before its face and it wore layers of leather taken from human skin. A massive sword hung in the scabbard at its belt, a monstrous weight of black iron she remembered far too well. Vult wielded that sword, and now at this creature's side it appeared more a rapier than a greatsword.

Impossibly, its eyes turned down to regard her. She went to push past it, and the sword came out. The black iron slammed into the stone just before her, sending chunks of stone hurtling through the air. She stopped, amazed at its awareness. Could it truly see her?

" _Goddess_ " the beast growled, its voice guttural. " _You are expected_."

Celeste gazed at the beast, stunned by its words. The creature slowly lifted the sword, and stepped aside. It banged the door with the pommel of Vult's sword. The heavy iron doors of the throne room buckled under its strength, nearly caving in entirely as the beast forced the doors open with the ease of a toddler pushing a ball.

Uncertainty dimmed her anger, and she felt a sudden rush of fear as the overwhelming presence of the being inside the throne room spilled out to greet her. She considered retreating, returning to the safety of Ken. Reason claimed its rightful place in her mind and she realized that what she was doing was foolish. She was grappling with a power far beyond her comprehension. Louk Shannegh had told her as much. But she could not sit by and continue doing nothing.

She needed to act.

Celeste entered the throne room with pride. She forced down her unease and fears and presented herself as the Goddess Reborn, the most powerful figure in Eostia. Steeling herself for the worst, she prepared her magic and readied for a fight.

The throne room was not what she had expected. After walking through walls of torture and despair she had expected an extravagant spectacle, a gruesome show of decadence and violence. It was not so. The throne room was clean, beautiful, and bettered care for than even when Olga's family occupied its throne. The carpet was new, a brilliant lush red. The floors and columns gleamed with fresh cleaning. The light was bright and clear, chasing the shadows from the room. It was… perfect.

A cluster of men and orcs and other foul creatures spoiled the cleanliness with their hideous presence. But these too were freshly cleaned, scrubbed, and stood in ordered ranks of peerless discipline. Even the orcs stood straight, their stooped shoulders upright and spread, their weapons polished to a brilliant shine. Their skin was without blemish or scar, both man and orc. When she looked at their faces she saw… nothing. Shapeless, expressionless. As if they were mannequins waiting to be completed. Celeste wondered if she had stumbled into a painting for a moment, an artist's rendition of a scene. She scarcely believed the absurdity of it.

Her attention drew instinctively to the throne. The creature sat there, the creature that wore Alicia's skin. No, it wore Prim's. Sickly sensations built in her mind as the face on the throne shifted, changing almost imperceptibly with each blink of her eye. Yet each time it was so clearly different. Alicia's severe and youthful frown. Prim's bright-eyed grin. Kaguya's calm smile.

Each face rocked her back, testing her resolve and daring her to turn and run in hopelessness. She had nothing to fear here, Celeste promised herself. She was ethereal, bound only in spirit. Her mortal form remained in Ken. To all but the most attuned magic user she would be invisible, unnoticeable, and unkillable.

Yet every head in the room turned to gaze unerringly at her as she approached down the carpeted hall. The blank, featureless faces of the guards radiated a chilling horror that brought to mind the ghost stories of her youth. Faceless monsters that hunted naughty children, always seeking the right face. Stories for children, to frighten little ones into disobedience. Celeste had thought to never experience that humiliating sensation again.

"I have been told of your beauty" Alicia's voice hummed, sliding into Celeste's ears like warm water. The daemon shifted in Olga's throne, setting its knees apart and regarding Celeste with a cold, haughty glare. "The thoughts and images of mortal minds are prone to error and mistake. You truly are a succulent treat."

She ignored its jab, though had she been present her cheeks would have colored with shock at its brutal claim. Her anger tickled at her mind, but its flame guttered low and weakly. Forcing her disgust aside, she stopped before the raised platform that led to the throne and studied the Prim-thing. Its form was… perfect. Draped in white-robed priestly garments of Kaguya's kin, it possessed an unnaturally beautiful face. Lying somewhere just between the appearance of Celeste's beloved Shields, taking the best of each and melding them into an unholy conglomeration. She loathed it.

"I have come to negotiate" Celeste announced. She forced the magic to carry her thoughts into speech. Though she intended the words spoken softly, at ordinary levels, the overwhelming fury of the Goddess' magic translated her thoughts into a mighty gale of force. The guards on either side buckled and stumbled away, and hanging chandeliers crashed together and rained glass and crystal on the floor throughout the room. Only the daemon on the throne remained untouched, though its robes flapped and blustered about. Had it been a mortal, the beast would be cowering in fear from that slight show of power.

"Negotiate? Whatever for?" Kaguya's lips pursed in a puzzled frown. It was an expression Celeste had never seen before, and that made it all the more eerie and unsettling.

"Return your armies to Garan" Celeste demanded. "If you do not, I will drive you from my lands with fire and fury."

"Will you now?" Alicia's frown rose into a sly grin. "That would give me great enjoyment. I do so love to see new things."

"This is your warning." Celeste did not want to linger. She turned to leave, her message delivered. What little strength she had would not last long. Better to save it, turn her attention to Garan, and channel her magic into a divine fire that would sweep the daemon's army back.

"You should stay a while" Prim whispered, though her voice carried too strongly through the chamber.

Celeste turned on her heel, planting her foot in the thick carpet of the-

Her breathing quickened, and Celeste held up her hands in horror. Her body was here!

"So beautiful" Prim cooed, rising from the throne. The voluminous priestly robes slid off the petite figure, leaving the daemon in her friend's skin naked and glistening with a sheen of something that was not quite oil. Celeste gaped at the creature, her thoughts jumbling and crashing together as she frantically tried to make sense of the turn of events. Her skin prickled with the cold of the hall. It was horribly cold, and she was naked as the day she was born.

What had happened? How had it taken her out of her spirit and anchored her body there?

"I do so want us to be friends." Kaguya's monotone voice uttered the words without inflection, but still they set a shiver up Celeste's spine. Covering herself with her hair, Celeste retreated a step, and froze with barely concealed terror when she struck a warm, sturdy body.

Recoiling from its touch, Celeste risked glancing behind her, and her blood froze in her veins. Louk Shannegh stood there, wearing the armor of the faceless guards, his dark gaze resting on her. She nearly screamed, but her lungs refused to draw breath. Turning back to the daemon, she swept her gaze over the room. Louk Shannegh stood all around her, his face on the dozens of bodies, human and orc alike.

"We have a common interest" Alicia continued. The daemon ran its hand up the Louk Shannegh's muscular arm. His armor shifted and crumpled to his feet, revealing…

Celeste nearly bit her tongue, averting her eyes as heat rushed up her throat and into her cheeks. Even in her terror, she could not deny the ghastly warmth heating in her belly as Louk Shannegh closed around her, armor vanishing or crumbling away at the daemon's silent command. She wrapped her arms defensively over her body, but there was nowhere to go. A ring of bodies surrounded her.

"You desire him" Prim crooned, sing-song with delight. "So many do. So many have. But you have not tasted like they have. Consider it a gift, from one ruler to another. For we must be friends. I have such wonderful plans for you."

Louk Shannegh's hands reached for her, and she could not retreat. A whimper built in her throat as his fingers slid up her arm, wrapped around her thighs. His cheek rubbed against her shoulder. His lips pressed against her neck. She tried to pull away, but his hands were everywhere. Touching, prodding, reaching for her most sacred places.

"Stop" she whimpered. Desperately, Celeste reached out for her magic.

"Why would you stop?" Kaguya's face appeared just before her, pressing fearlessly through the strong limbs that massaged Celeste's body. Something hot and hard pressed against her buttocks, and tears filled Celeste's eyes. "I can give you this for eternity. Wouldn't you like that? I can give you this, or I can give you Louk Shannegh himself. Can you imagine an eternity of his service, devoted to pleasuring you and you alone."

She did imagine it. She could imagine it, and the thought was horrifyingly alluring. Her chest tightened, her thighs were slick. Louk Shannegh's lips pressed against hers, and his touch sent a shock of fire coursing through her veins. Moans rose unbidden to her lips, and she eagerly pressed into his mouth. He tasted like sweat and earth, a hearty fire scorching her mouth with a hunger she had never let loose before.

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. She wanted him. She wanted Louk Shannegh more than she wanted the power of the Goddess. But not so much as she wanted to protect her people.

Their lips parted, and Celeste panted with need. A firm hand pressed against her back, easing her forwards while more hands held her thighs and spread her butt apart.

"I am so sorry, Claudia" she whispered.

The carpet beneath her feet ran red with the blood of the slain. The fur came from the stitched-together scalps of women and children alike. Lights burned over the hardened fat of babies, and sizzled as fat drops splashed on the polished bone of mens' ribs wrapped around the columns. Grunting, sweaty men cackled and laughed as they closed even tighter around her.

Celeste clutched at her magic, holding it close as it threatened to fade into the void. Her fingers curled around it, tightened and gripped it until her mind burned with the wildfire of its touch. She would not be defeated like this. Her people could not survive without her. There was a spell, a horrible spell, that Olga had taught her long ago. A spell that could bring the whole Black Fortress down. Her lips moved in silent incantation as Louk Shannegh's face pressed into her throat, nibbling at her tender skin. Strong hands lifted first one leg, then the other, into the air, and his heat pressed against her as Louk Shannegh set himself between her hips.

"Embrace it" Alicia whispered, tongue flicking against her ear. "Become his. I am not so jealous that I cannot share. You will become one, and I will become you."

Celeste's world sharpened, her awareness closing in until she felt nothing but the air on her skin, the hammering of her heart as the Goddess' magic welled against her soul. It was the simplest thing, like cutting a thin silk curtain with a sword. The final syllable passed her lips and the high elf sighed wearily. The magic poured out of her.

Olga's ancestral home, The Black Fortress, exploded in a towering inferno of light and fire.

 **-v-**

Claudia woke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest. A stabbing pain unlike anything she had ever known shook her body, and she clutching at her heart, a silent groan emptying her lungs. Tears poured down her cheeks. She did not know why. That ache left her breathless, and she had the terrible sense that something very wrong had just occurred.

Sunlight poured into her room. She blinked in confusion, shielding her eyes as she struggled to refill her lungs. The pain faded slowly, easing the pressure on her chest, and the last Shield of the Goddess took stock of the situation. The night torches still burned brightly. Her water clock had yet to pass a quarter of its contents. It was still the dead of night.

"What the blazes" the knight cursed.

Stumbling out of her bed, Claudia wrapped herself in a thick robe and snatched up her sword. Her room had no balcony, but it did have a curtained window and she hastily pushed it aside to get a better view.

What little breath she had recovered caught in her throat.

A distant pillar of fire burned beyond the mountains. Though it rose hundreds of miles away, buried in the depths of the wasteland of Garan, it shone as if the sun itself had settled on the land. Claudia gaped at the sight, her sword falling from nerveless fingers. Her legs shook; her whole body went numb at the realization of what had occurred.

Olga's fortress had been destroyed.

She did not know whether to weep or rejoice. Likely the latter, but such a thing could not possibly bode well. Not with the insanity that had swept the world. An anxious fear clouded her thoughts, and she stepped back from the window. Shrugging off her robe, she hurriedly threw on a coat of lighter scale armor and buckled her sword to her hip. Her fingers ached with fatigue. Her whole body ached, but that did not stop her. As soon as she was presentable she hurried into the hall and made a straight line for the stairs.

"Summon the Reaper" she barked at one of the patrolling guards. The guards were clustered about one of the northern portals, watching the phenomenon with hushed mutters. They leapt to her command, however, and a pair of them rushed ahead of her. Claudia's own path took her up the stairs, towards the Goddess' private level.

That irrational fear pounded in her veins, slamming her thoughts into a jumbled mess. Her mind whirled, unable to pull together a coherent thought, a clear question. What had happened? Was this the portent of a new weapon?

Celeste's hallway stood empty, devoid of even guards. Claudia's pace increased, her anxiety turning into something greater. The stabbing panic of unrealized fears barked at her heels. Before she realized it she had drawn her sword, and rushed Celeste's doors with every intention of kicking them open to check on her-

"Claudia."

The familiar voice swept her fears aside as easily as water swept sand. Instantly, Claudia's heartbeat slowed and her worries ceased. The Knight Levantine slowed her pace and turned to the speaker, nestled in the shadowy alcove cast by the unnatural light filtering into the hallway.

"Celeste. That pillar of fire. It's-"

"The Black Fortress." Celeste did not turn to regard her, but gazed out through the narrow viewing slit that allowed light into the hall. The side of the high elf's face was illuminated, and showed a healthier color than it had, but still bore dark rings under her eyes and a tired drooping in her features.

"Yes… I thought as much." Claudia glanced down at her drawn sword. A flush of shame pooled in her cheeks and she hastily sheathed her weapon. "Do we know what happened?"

"The fortress was destroyed." Celeste turned slowly from the window, cloaking her face in the darkness. Stepping out of the alcove, the high elf offered a soft smile that showed no levity, only exhaustion.

"Lady Celeste. You… you did this?" Claudia dropped to a knee, awed by the power of her Goddess.

"I must rest" her Goddess announced. Extending a hand, the high elf motioned for Claudia to rise. The Shield of Geofu did as commanded, and hurriedly offered her arm in support. "This night has been most tiring."

The door to the stairs boomed open, thrown haphazardly by the brute force of the Reaper as he stormed into view. The man's expression unnerved Claudia, so grim and fearsome she half-thought to draw her blade on instinct. A predatory menace filled the hall.

"It is a false alarm" Claudia called out to the approaching man. She did not like the savage gleam in his eyes. "The Goddess is-"

The Reaper's sword came out like a bolt of lightning. It hurtled through the hall, and struck Celeste square in the chest. The high elf's body wrenched backwards, nearly spinning Claudia around as the Goddess let out a shrill scream.

"NO!"

Reflex drew her blade and threw her to her knees, covering her Goddess even as the Reaper let out an animalistic roar that shook the hall. Claudia swung with berserker strength, bringing her sword across the man's path. The man's thick boot stopped her swing cold, kicking the sword by the guard, and sent her staggering to the side.

"CELESTE!"

Claudia had trained for battle, endured battle, nearly her entire life. Recovering in an instant from the blow, the Knight Levantine spun up onto one knee and drew her sword close to prepare at thrust that would skewer Celeste's attacker through the hip.

She was not fast enough.

The Reaper descended on her Goddess in a rage. His fist smashed into her chest, and to Claudia's horror the delicate high elf's ribs shattered, and his gloved hand buried itself to the wrist in her torso. The elf screamed, her voice rising shrill and numbingly loud.

Her scream did not stop. Not when the Reaper tore his hand free, ripping shattered bits of bone and organs out of her cratered chest and hurling them away. Her scream did not cease when he tore his sword free of her torso and brought it down on the elf's neck, severing her head from her body. Claudia knelt frozen, unable to move, her muscles seizing as the Reaper hacked and slashed at the mangled corpse, destroying it utterly save for the head.

Her scream did not stop.

Why did it not stop?

Blood filled her mouth. Claudia realized she had bit her tongue, and the salty taste of iron made her sick. Gagging on her own blood, she spat out a wad of dark red vitae, and found herself staring into Celeste's wide eyes and endless scream. Those eyes glowed a feverish purple, and Claudia screamed herself. Shock, terror, fear, despair… it all smashed together right before her eyes as she stared into the impossible.

"Get away from it" Louk Shannegh snarled, gripping her by the shoulder and hurling her bodily to the side. Claudia crashed to the ground and rolled, smacking her head against the marble floor. The pain broke the fog of confusion and she stumbled to her feet, reaching for a sword that was no longer at her side.

"What… what is that" Claudia cried out, her voice sharp with fear.

Celeste's body had vanished. There was no sign of her presence. Not the bloody gore of her organs or the ringing of that horrible scream in her ears. The hallway was empty, save for herself, Louk Shannegh, and the spit of blood she had hacked onto the floor. Her whole body trembled, sick with adrenaline and the rapidly curling grip of ice choking her lungs.

"That was not Celeste" Louk Shannegh growled. The man returned his sword to its sheath, his mood calmed immensely with the disappearance of… whatever the hell that had been.

"Is… Celeste!"

Claudia rushed to the doors of her Goddess' room. An outstretched hand barred her way.

"I am not sure you should go in there" Louk warned her.

"Get out of my way!" Claudia grasped his arm and pushed it aside. The Knight Levantine opened the doors to her Goddess' private room-

And gagged as the horrific reek of cooked flesh flooded out to greet them. Overwhelmed by the putrid and unbelievably strong smell, Claudia staggered backwards and covered her nose. Her eyes watered, and the knight had to force herself to step inside.

It was as if a fireball had gone off inside the room. The walls and floor around Celeste's bed were scorched black. Priceless artwork had peeled and bubbled, extravagant furniture lay in ashen cinder piles, even the windows had blown outwards and showed nothing but the occasional jagged shard still stuck in its holding. Flames still guttered weakly from canvas oils and wooden splinters. But that was hardly the worst of it.

In the center of the room, the Goddess' bed had been… it simply was no longer there. There was no trace of the large bed that held her Goddess save for a blasted outline on the floor where the corner posts had stood. Wisps of fabric fluttered in the room, carried aloft of air currents, dancing like somber players in an aerial ballet.

Claudia's strength fled, and she crumpled to her knees. She might have cried out, but she had no voice to give. A hollow, awful croak battled free of her lungs, and that stabbing pain her heart flared even greater, filling every inch of her being until she thought she would die.

A charred corpse lay in the center of the room, surrounded by the destruction and ruin. Its flesh had cooked clean off its bones, and a grisly charred scar beneath it showed where fat and flesh had boiled like grease from a bacon fire. The body was unrecognizable. But the circle embedded into its skull was not.

 _Celeste_ she screamed, silent and voiceless. It hurt so badly she wanted to die. Her eyes burned from the reeking stench, from the agony battering at her stupefied mind.

Louk Shannegh paced into the room, one hand on his sword. The man approached the corpse, nudged it with his boot, and let out a long, breathy curse. His voice broke the stillness of the room, and Claudia's body heaved as a strangled gasp worked itself free. The world blurred, and she collapsed on the floor, sobbing weakly.

"What is so throne-fecking wrong with you people" Louk demanded, speaking to no one in particular. Claudia did not look up. She could not muster the will to look up at the corpse of her Goddess. Her whole world was crashing into ruin around her, and Celeste had been her only light, the only thing holding her sanity and hope intact.

Something crashed against the wall. She flinched, and risked peering up to see Celeste's circlet rattling along before it settled on the floor. Her fingers wrapped around the circlet, the metal cold to the touch, and brought it close. Pressing her forehead against the circlet, she moaned her Goddess' name.

"I can't beat the bastard if you keep running off and getting yourselves fecking killed" Louk spat. His words were not aimed at Claudia, but she felt them jabbing into her shattered heart. Unable to muster a reply, she slowly pushed herself up to a sitting position and stared at the man with tear-filed eyes.

"How can you say that" Claudia asked, her voice broken and soft.

"Alicia died because she walked out of Ken with her head up her ass" Louk growled. "Maia died because she opened a damn gate she knew better than to open. Luu-Luu insisted on following…" The man's shoulders stiffened, and his attention went over Claudia's back. The knight turned, and found that they were no longer alone.

The black-clad figure of Olga Discordia stood in the threshold, her amber eyes locked on the corpse. Having abandoned her purple fashion in favor of a close-fitting gown of mourning black, the dark elf queen was a sight to behold. Her face was frozen in a mask of quiet, steaming fury. One would not have thought that the regal and haughty woman in the door was the same one who that had shrieked and screamed in the courtyard, near mindless in her loss, just days before.

"Olga…"

"I felt her death" Olga stated. The dark elf's voice lacked the usual spiteful disdain that Claudia was so used to. Gaping at the elf, Claudia shuffled out of her way without conscious thought. The dark elf glided into the room, approaching Celeste's corpse with reverent steps.

"What did she do" Louk asked. With the arrival of the dark elf his mood and mellowed considerably.

"The Goddess had the power to cast her consciousness across great distances. She must have gone to Garan to search for our foe."

"And that pillar?"

The dark queen turned regally, showing her profile as she stared out the shattered window in the direction of her homeland. "She destroyed it. I showed her how, a long time ago. But she would not have done it if there was another way."

"The daemon preys on dreams" Louk said with a grunt. He turned away from the corpse. "It must have caught her."

"I should have stopped her" Olga said.

"Could you have?" Claudia held Celeste's circlet tight as she rose unsteadily to her feet. The floor felt like jelly, and she had to lean on the wall to support herself.

Both dark elf and human turned to regard her curiously. Olga's expression had returned to its natural state of listless disdain, but there was a hint of pity in her eyes, a lingering emotion that the Dark Queen could not hide away.

"I should have been at her side." Olga inclined her head softly.

"It doesn't matter who is at fault" Louk said. He lifted his foot as if to kick at the ground, but stopped when he realized his path would have caught Celeste's corpse. Lowering his foot with a grunt, he stomped and looked up at Claudia. The grim set of his expression showed no hope, no flame that she might cling to. Her mind wandered, adrift in the sea of pain that threatened to drown her sanity. "We just lost the last weapon we had."

"Are you saying you can't defeat it?" Claudia suppressed a groan.

"I am saying that the bastard outmaneuvered me. What's left, Claudia? You? A bunch of peasants with pitchforks? I fought this beast with armies, with machines that rend cities to dust and demigods that could each take over your world by themselves. There is nothing left!"

His words struck her like a slap in the face. It stung badly because she knew that he spoke the truth. Claudia had been there when Louk dueled the monster in Prim's form. She knew it could not be killed. Not by mortal means.

"There is one thing left" Olga murmured. Her pale, amber eyes blinked once, and she held out her hand to Claudia. Claudia nodded weakly, and handed over Celeste's circlet. The circlet glowed softly at the dark elf's touch.

"Olga?" Louk's expression shifted, a tumult of emotions dancing and ending across his face. Claudia recognized some of them, and it twisted the knife deeper in her belly.

"That monster took Chloe from me" Olga stated, her voice growing sharp and hard as flint. There was a brittleness to her tone, and Claudia was shocked to see the weight of emotion seeping through the elf's control. Olga's eyes grew wet, but she did not cry. Her nose wrinkled slightly in a sniff. "And now it has taken the only one I called friend."

"You don't have the stren-"

"I did not have the strength" Olga agreed. She lifted the circlet and threaded it into her hair. The glow faded, and a shiver swept up the dark elf's body. For a brief moment her whole body seemed to shine, like a great light grew under her skin. Her jaw set, and she bared her teeth in a dangerous, predatory smile. "Now, I have nothing left holding me back."

Her hand snapped out, and she gestured for Claudia to step closer. The knight did, shuffling closer, her eyes averted from the remains at the elf's feet. Even Louk Shannegh was eyeing the dark elf curiously, his gruff natured subdued.

"There is a way" Olga told them, her voice somber. "It will be bitter, you will despise it, but it is the only way."

"If it kills the bastard _Virtuoso_ , I will pay any price" Claudia breathed.

"Will you, now?" Olga lifted an eyebrow, showing her doubt. "I doubt a human can understand the meaning of real sacrifice."

"Olga" Louk said, warning thick on his voice.

The dark elf turned her gaze back to the corpse on the floor. A flash of rage showed, only for an instant. Then she was calm again, and she reached up to touch the circlet on her brow.

"I had thought the demons had taken everything from me" Olga said. "This creature proved me wrong. It will pay for its hubris, and this is how…"


	30. The End

**A/N: AH'M BACK! Was able to get this in a bit faster than I expected. Thanks again to the reviewers, and for everyone who stuck it out this far through the gut-wrenching and tear-jerking tragedy that was this story.**

 **Reviewers:**

 **Janne Rolfe Jalandoni –** Ave Imperator, indeed!

 **ManwithaPlan113** – Yes, find another world full of beautiful waifus.

 **ZE GOD HAND** – Vengeance is mine, sayeth the God-Emperor.

 **EnriksD8** – If Kaldor Draigo took his place, it would be very boring. Draigo (according to Wardian fluff) would use Virtuoso as a snotrag, and being a Space Marine he has 0 interest in women. Likely he would butcher the entire world too, since, you know, Grey Knight lore.

 **DarkQueenOriga** – Your summary is very… apt?

 **SomeGuyOverHere** – It is rather hard to find an explanation for a being of supreme power not using their powers. Thought this was appropriate. Besides, it adds that juicy little bit of subplot/backstory. And yes, I thought about having a showdown between Celeste and Virtuoso, but then it would kind of defeat the suspension of disbelief. This way felt much more in line with a Slaaneshi daemon.

 **TwinkieMain** – What happened to Celeste is meant to be confusing, because from her limited perspective she has no idea. From a 40k enthusiast's perspective… ditto. Almost everything 40k-related can be protected behind the explanation of "Warpy Bullshit." Essentially, she sent her soul out of her body to look around. The daemon snatched her soul out of the ether and bound it in place. So she was both there, and not.

 **Disciple of Ember** – ApostleofWrath is fine. There is absolutely nothing wrong with him… I mean, me (cough cough). Definitely not buried out behind the shed. Olga and Louk make a pretty powerful pair when they stand together. I have definitely written over one hundred thousand words of a very rough draft of their continued adventurers in an unnamed world alongside an uber-powerful skeleton who is justice. Doubt it will every see the light of day, as it is written in a giant document and leaps all over the place rather than being cohesively put together.

 **Guest** – Chain of events. Daemon drove them out of Garan, which brought her back into contact with Mandeville.

 **Guest 2** – That's acceptable.

 **Guest 3** – I really try to not fill one side or other of the 'OC pwns setting' pendulum. Glad you like the balance.

 **Ekurman** – Things are going well! Work is slow enough I can honestly get a lot of writing done while at work (don't tell my boss). I've juts been bouncing all over the place with my writing attention span, so this story comes and goes like the tides.

 **Guest 4** – Yes they have. No reason why they wouldn't allow refugees. After all Celeste is… was, in charge. She would absolutely have allowed it.

 **Abdiel Amaro** – GW is already infected with waifu-bullshit. Just look at Matt Ward's return. And Guilliman his Eldar girlfriend.

 **DanteInfernus** – Well, I mean, I hadn't explicitly said a sacrifice…

 **Guest 5** – tldr ; you are assigning fantastical real world application to a universe founded on pure bullshit, and then transferring said (mostly nonsensical rambling) application to yet another, even more bullshitty universe. Ok, boomer.

* * *

The summer heat was pleasant on his skin. It was an odd thing to recognize, one of those little things that could be so easily taken for granted. Warmth seeping into his bones, teasing out the first drop of sweat after a long day of anxious riding. He felt it coming, reached up to wipe his forehead.

"Showing your age" his companion chided, a playful humor in her tone. As if she was not aware.

He might have turned to reprimand her, to remind her that age was just a word to a creature like himself, but he could not. Not when his goal lay so close. Just around the riverbend. Eagerness tickled under his palms, made his fingers twitch against the reins of his horse. It had been a long time, too long. So much had happened, and now all he could think about was what lay at the end of his road. It had been such a long road. A road of fighting, struggle. Battling the daemon time and time again. Battling the monsters of humanity.

The obscuring trees gave way to a long field, shimmering brightly as the sunlight reflected against white-gold crops. His field. The sight of it still left him uneasy and off-balance. Who would have thought that this would be his life? Certainly not his… the one who created him. Certainly not himself. As they rode their horses past the waving stalks, he reached out a hand and idly plucked at one of the leaves.

"The harvest is almost ready" she noted dryly.

"It is" he agreed, and tossed the leaf back into the field.

It was such a fine day. The sun stood strong, not a cloud in the sky. To the one side, the river whispered and gurgled as it carried on its way. To the other side, the golden field extended outwards like a blanket covering the land. A good day. It was good to come home on such a day.

Their goal lay ahead. A simple, unassuming cabin. His chest tightened at the sight of it.

"Is she waiting for you?"

He had no answer for that. He did not need to answer. A dark figure sat on a rocking chair at the entrance of the cabin, shaded by a rough timber porch overhang. Her long black hair was braided loosely over one shoulder, spilling over the plain white dress she wore to combat the heat. Her languid, amber eyes met his from a distance, and the tightness in his chest drained. Her lips pursed in a tight frown, a gesture that did not match the bright sparkle in her eyes. Drawing her hands together, the distant figure placed them over her rounded belly, driving his attention to the change.

His heart beat faster, and he urged his mount onwards.

"So this is how you would spend your years" she called out, matching his pace. "Put away the sword and pick up the plowshare? Wherever did you get that idea?"

"A man said it once" he replied, not bothering to glance back. His gaze remained riveted to the woman at the porch. Her frown had softened, replaced by her listless expression. She used it defensively, to prevent him from seeing how his arrival had surprised her. That was a woman who hated surprises. She was his woman. And he loved her all the more for the flicker of irritation she had shown at his unexpected return. She must have wanted to keep it a secret, to offer her own surprise.

Drawing up to the cabin, he slipped from the saddle and started towards the hitching post. A spry little figure came dashing out of the field, its tiny features seeming to glow with energy.

"You came back!"

He turned to catch it, scooping the child up under its shoulders and lifting it into the air. The child squealed with delight, and stretched out its thin arms as if it might scoop up the sky. It cooed and giggled in his hands. Bringing it in close for a hug, he embraced the child and turned back to look at the woman on the porch.

"Such a shame" his companion murmured, voice soft and somber. "It really is a beautiful dream."

The woman on the porch was gone, disappeared. Louk froze, his breath catching in his throat. A rotten, desiccated corpse lay in its place, rocking back and forth as the wind teased the chair. The cabin burned, flames licking at its charred pillars. The field was not full of crops, but bodies impaled on spears. He gasped, feeling a wave of pressure pound into his skull.

"You should not have come back" the little child screeched. Hot, sticky fluid spilled on his cheek, his shoulder. Louk pushed the child away, and the thing was no longer a tiny and innocent child. Its face was carved, gouged, full of peeling sores and horrific runes. Claw-like nails slashed at his face, and the air whistled like the screams of the agonized. "YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED LIKE THE OTH-"

 **-v-**

Louk stood before the embers of a forgotten fire. He did not remember how he had gotten there. He hardly remembered the terror that had driven him from sleep and sent him lunging for Durendal. He never remembered. It was part of his curse to always forget the nightmares that kept him from rest, that drove him ever onwards. Real sleep, uninterrupted and restful, was a luxury he had forgotten.

He stared into the coals below the charred wooden scraps, seeking some meaning or sign in their positioning. There was none. Even had there been, he was not one for augury and haruspex. That was a world of mystics and vagaries he could not comprehend. He knew the sword, the hunt, and battle. For a very long time, it had been enough.

Not this time, though. He had tried, but the fiend he hunted was too powerful, too elusive, too in-control. His chase across the stars had led him to be victory, and that victory had led to overconfidence. He had thought the creature beaten, retreating. And perhaps it had been. The daemon's screams of rage and fury could not be mistaken, not when Durendal was buried to the hilt in its ephemeral body, or when the psychic bolts flayed its soul bare. It had been crushed. Defeated.

And the Warp laughed at his victory, allowed him to chase his prey into a new world, a world where he had become the hunted, his prey the predator. That is what this had been, though his realization came far too late. Alone, battling the beast as equals, it had never had cause for fear or concern. Louk Shannegh was just a man. A powerful man, blessed and cursed in equal measure with a great many gifts, but a man just the same. Even at his most daring he had brought retinues and armies against the daemon. The pale shadow of strength these people possessed hardly registered in the daemon's eyes. For all intents and purposes, the daemon's only for was himself.

Blindness. He had been blind.

His fingers tightened on Durendal. His knuckles whitened and he felt the cramping pains of his muscles as they sought in vain to crush the rune sword's metal. It burned to the touch. It always had. The pain was a fresh and eternal reminder of what he was. No matter how long he held it, the pain never faded and his mind never adjusted to the prickling, stabbing sensation. How it burned his skin, scorching it just enough that it healed the instant he released it. The weapon was both holy and unholy, a blessed thing and a cursed one. Just like he was. Forged and reforged in both consecrated waters and vile fluids; stained with the blood of martyrs and monsters. It had been an ordinary sword once, just a sword wielded by a hero who defended his country to his last breath against an invading horde. Then it had been a symbol, a holy relic of an ancient religion. Once his mentor had found it, he turned it into a weapon again, where it struck against the shadows and darkness of the world and drove them into destruction. He purified it, made it clean and whole and good in a way that few weapons ever could. Only to violate that purity by caging the worst sort of creature in its metal shell. Binding a daemon of the Blood God to it, trapping its soul in a weapon whose holy existence caused endless torment and agony.

It had broken free, of course. Broke free and rampaged across dozens of worlds. Slaughtered untold millions. In breaking free, it tore the holy and the unholy from the weapon, merged them into an existence that made neither sense nor reason. The husk of the blade remained, filled not with light or darkness, but the absence of either. A holy blade, a daemon blade, and neither. It struck against holy and unholy with equal lethality now. Its only care was slaking its murderous intent.

It was as fine a weapon as he could ask for.

"I should have died" he muttered softly, the words scarcely passing his lips.

"Yes" she said behind him.

He had felt her presence, known she was there the instant he woke, even in the madness of his fear. A silent, near imperceptible figure shadowed by the thick curtains that were pulled across the window. Content to merely observe, it had not attacked, and he found himself in no mood to start a confrontation. The night was too cold. His body was too tired. Had he tried, it would end disastrously. That it could be here now proved the hopelessness of the task. It truly had no fear of him.

Not anymore.

"How would it have been any different?"

"Different? No, it would have been the same. It is always the same." The figure did not move, but the light of the moon seemed to fill into the room, bypassing the curtains and bathing the room in a serene glow. Louk idly turned to inspect the intruder, Durendal held low at his side.

Alicia stood half-hidden by the curtains, her face shadowed behind the thick fabric. A sickly smile revealed perfect teeth, and she leaned on one foot, her hip accented by the pose. The light seemed to start and end with her, revealing half her body in its naked splendor, but hiding the other half from even Louk's gaze. He detected no blood, no heartbeat, nothing that could identify the creature as alive.

Daemons never were alive, though. Neither were they dead. They merely… were.

"The same?" Louk let out a soft breath, a brutal chuckle that was more irritation than humor. "It would all have changed. The daemon would have won, and taken the lives of so many billions again and again. We destroyed it. Killed it. And we saved all those lives."

"Saved those lives? No, my sweet. You saved but one life." Alicia held up a single finger and placed it to her lips. "You saved the life of the monster that created you, you violated the sacred pact he made and stole what rightfully belonged to another."

"Perhaps, but what is it to you? Why would you care about his soul?"

"Oh, I do not. We do not. After all, his soul was promised before we came to be. Even my lord does not tread on such a sacred pact. Yet you would. You, a miserable little mortal, dared to challenge eternity and rendered a sacrosanct agreement void. Oh, but you should have heard the delight that it caused. Ecstasy and orgy that shook my master's palace as we celebrated your cunning ploy. The bloomongerer's rage at the death of its servant. The death that you," her finger turned to point accusingly, "caused. Death, and the birth of something new. Something more wonderful than you could possibly imagine."

He knew it was baiting him, guiding him along a path of its choosing. By rights he should not be speaking to it at all. But he was curious, and the fact that it was speaking to him now meant it was not off plotting somewhere else.

"You thought that you altered the future, but you did not. The world you knew as Regeos VI was ordained to be butchered at the Reaper's command, their skulls lifted up in tribute to the Throne of Skulls. Instead they fell to debauchery and sin, and I guided their souls to my lord's side. The one named Kalsitor Trehani should have died on the blade of a mighty herald of blood, but he fell victim to an assassin's poison. A great warband of the Blood God were to plunder the stars, yet I came in their place. You changed nothing, Louk Shannegh. You merely rewrote the players in the great theater."

"Death comes to all" Louk spat back.

"Ah, but how? That is what you did. You took away the servant whose task lay before you. What were we to do but put another in its place? Where the harvest had been declared for one, I rose up and led it to another. That is what you did, Louk Shannegh. That is all you did, and it is wondrous."

"I am not responsible for what happened to those people."

"You are, though." Alicia stepped out from behind the curtain. Louk's skin prickled, an unfamiliar sensation not unlike fear ghosting across his flesh. The part of the daemon that had remained behind the curtain was… ravaged. Bloody tendon and sinew dripped across the floor, smeared by its foot as it slipped unsteadily on a mutilated leg. Its left eye was gaping socket, a stream of jelly-like fluid seeping down from its blistered cheek and gums. Black-scarred lungs pressed against bare ribs, and the creature wheezed out a hacking cough. A very mortal, damaged cough. "You are responsible for it all. You created it."

He sensed its weakness. The daemon had been injured. Brutally, horrifically injured. Celeste's last act of defiance had done what Louk could not. His pulse quickened at the thought, but he forcibly shut that treacherous line of thought aside. He doubted the daemon could read his mind, but it could read his expression.

"I created nothing." He loosened his grip on Durendal. Hold it too tightly at it impeded his balance. Inspecting the brutalized form of the daemon, he wondered if he could do it. The physical shell meant little, in truth. Especially with a daemon that could leap between hosts. He had to wonder, how far could it reach? He doubted there was a limit. After all, daemons were not creatures of the physical realm and bowed to no physical restraints. But he could remove one of its hosts, cut if off from its access here. He did not ask how it had come here. It would likely lie, or not answer.

"Humanity." The creature chuckled softly, blood bubbling on its lips. "So young, so arrogant. You are the most decadent treat we could have wished for. So much hubris in so frail hosts. I can never grow tired of it. You did create it. When you became the Reaper, my lord's joy was such that none could stand his presence. Even his most loyal servants fled his palace to escape the storm of his ecstasy. I was born of that triumph. I am the seed of my lord's amusement. He looked upon the Blood God's rage with such pride, for such a thing had never been done before. To see one's eternal foe laid low, humiliated like that. To be made the laughingstock of the gods. Oh…" her one eye fluttered, and a quivering moan rattled from its hissing lungs. "Oh, you should have seen it. I was there. I was the only one that was there. Born in the Death of Eternity."

"That's… you are lying."

"I told you, I would never lie to you." A snake-like tongue flicked out, slithering down its chest and lapping between its thighs. "I cannot lie to you. It was forbidden."

"All you have done is lie" he snarled. Durendal came up in his hand.

"Every thing I have ever told you is true." It reached out a hand, beckoning him closer. Rage flared in his chest and he lashed out, severing the hand and the wrist. The bloody stump squelched and withdrew, and the daemon's disfigured expression twisted in delightful agony. "All I have ever wanted is to please you, to make you happy. Can't you see? Don't you understand? I was born of your actions, brought into being by the impossibility of your victory. Louk, you are my father."

 **-v-**

Claudia stood on the wall over the gate. Ordinarily they stood open, welcoming and inviting. Hundreds of merchants, travelers, tradesmen and workers flowed in and out of the city on a daily basis, all protected by the great white walls and the crenellated defenses. It seemed a lifetime ago now. Today the gates were closed, and it was unlikely they would ever be opened again. Not because the city had declared itself shut off from the world, but because it was unlikely there would be any survivors to open them.

The commander of the White Guard stood beside her, as did her second in command. Together with a handful of the soldiers, mages, and officials, they stared out over the silent plains that surrounded Ken at the vast, unimaginable horde that had gathered at their gates. It roiled and seethed at the edge of the forest, a great flood of evil stretching southward as it slowly moved to encompass the city. To the north, the distant clouds of great hordes on the march indicated the soon-arrival of another such army. By the end of the day, the city would be surrounded. Though she had not bothered to attempt a count of their foe, she knew they were outnumbered by a magnitude that would have been laughable had it not been their doom.

There was nothing left outside the walls of Ken. Her small army, what remained of the combined forces of Feoh, Ur, and Geofu, numbered ten thousand. A few thousand more had come from the north, but more refugees than warriors. Rad had fallen… fallen was not the right word. Fallen indicated that there had been a battle. Rad descended into anarchy, a vicious miasma spilling out from Bold Fortune as the daemon's claws tore the heart out of the land and turned them all against each other. Her only reports from that madness came from the ragged refugee trains that had fled south from Ansur, which had been overwhelmed and destroyed by an unstoppable tidal wave of demons from Garan. The refugees had been ambushed and hounded relentlessly through Rad, and a mere fraction of those who had fled Ansur reached Ken's walls. Her only other reinforcement was the border fort, which had been abandoned after the mercenary Dianne found the place indefensible. Her savaged train of eighty mercenaries was a pale shadow of the companies that had marched out to bolster its garrison only a few months ago. Other than that, she had militia, the White Guard, and whoever else could be pressed into service.

Looking at the numbers arrayed against them, she wondered if it was worth the effort. They were all going to die. She was certain of it. Not just certain. It must be that way. Shifting her feet ever so slightly, Claudia turned to gaze back at the White Tower, the lone beacon of light in the darkness that consumed her world. The distance was far too great for even an elf's sight, but Claudia knew where to look. She knew that they were being watched.

"There are so many" Grishom whispered, awed by the great swaths of orcs cutting south along the tree line.

"More opportunities for our blades" Claudia replied, wishing she believed her own bluster. No one continued the discussion further. The warriors calculated the odds, the civilians struggled to hold in their fears. They all doubted their survival. Any sane person would.

Claudia could not afford to let them know the truth of it. They would all die. Her goal was not to defeat this monstrous army, this unfathomable horde. Her goal was to delay it. To that end, she had ordered sweeping defensive lines made all through the city. The main avenues were barricaded with overturned carts and piles of rubble. Houses were collapsed to choke of alleys and vital arteries. There were clear lines of defense outlined to her forces, but more was made to slow down the invaders. By nightfall the city would be so riddle with barricades and barriers that the shortest route to the White Citadel would take an hour of riding.

Goddess willing, it would be enough.

They were all watching her, waiting for her word. She had given deployment orders already. The soldiers knew where to go. What they needed to hear now was reassurance. A promise that they would survive. She could not lie to them.

"We are all that is left" Claudia reminded them. "There is nowhere left to run, nowhere to escape to. Make sure your soldiers understand this."

"Surely there must be a way to reason with them" Grishom said, breaking the uneasy silence.

"One does not reason with madness" Claudia hissed, fixing the clergyman with a furious glare. "They are demons, monsters! Even the ones who had been human are animals in their ranks. There is no reasoning with these things."

Her proclamation left the others in a sullen, terrified silence. There was not much else she could say. To even try and encourage them would be seen through. The unspoken question that they all wanted to ask her tore at her heart. Where was the Goddess? The magically attuned would have sensed the fall of Celeste's barriers. Her disappearance from the public, and absence from even private counsel, could not be missed. She was grateful they did not press the issue. Had even one found the courage to ask, she doubted she would hold her composure.

It still felt like a dream. Like this was all a bad dream. Somewhere, out in the morass of dark shapes, was the daemon. The fell creature that had come to this world and destroyed it. As much as it galled Claudia to admit it, the dark elf witch was right. Even should they defeat it here and now, should they butcher its followers until their corpses formed ramps up to the walls, Eostia would never be the same. So few remained, and she could not imagine trying to start over. To create new life in a world so poisoned and ravaged. She lacked the strength to see it through.

Now it had come to this: the world reduced to a single frightened city, swallowed up in the darkness of despair. They had one chance to set things right, and in doing so Claudia knew she would not live to see the end. None of the persons here would. All their hope, all their fears, lay on one person. The damned Reaper. When he had claimed to be their salvation, he surely had not meant this.

Claudia regretted few things in life. Disbelieving Louk Shannegh was one of those.

"I must speak with the G… I must go to the White Citadel" Claudia stated, excusing herself. Her second in command moved to follow, but Claudia halted her with an upraised hand. "See to the militia. Ensure they eat well and are prepared. We will not be attacked tonight."

"How can you be sure" Grishom demanded, a note of fear sending his voice to shrill heights.

"Because it wants us to sweat, and when it comes it will be in full panoply."

 **-v-**

He watched her pacing about the room, her lips forming the words of the ritual, her hands gesturing in somatic patterns. Her bare feet slid over the carpet with hardly a whisper, delicate and soft as they toed dangerously close to the edge of the frigid stone floor. A faint flutter of air seeped into the room, catching her skirt and swishing it with a touch of flair as she spun on her heel and started in the other direction, her eyes distant and unfocused as she concentrated on her preparations.

Louk watched her from across the room, distracting himself in her flowing hair, her supple movements. The dark elf was lost in her own preparations, having begun reciting and practicing the ritual just after noon. She had continued for hours without stop, and made a visible path in the carpet where her steps had repeated over and over. The level of dedication she had invested reminded him of his own time, like so many things she did. Her lips were chapped and raw from constant muttering, her legs moving stiffly from exhaustion.

There was nothing for him to do, and that ate at him. Sitting about when there was work to be done made him antsy. He longed to go over and help her, take over the recitation of words or gestures, but he could not. It was not his place, and there was nothing he could offer that would improve their chances. The ritual was, in Olga's own words, a longshot. Such a thing had never been done before, as far as she could tell. Perhaps that was the way of it, though. If someone before had gone back in time, had it been so seamless a change that no one had noticed?

No, according to Olga it had only been attempted once before. The disaster had level a mountainside, and caused havoc on the nearby lands. The power to alter the flow of time was beyond mortal magic. It required something far more powerful. Before Celeste's death, it was unattainable. The wild magic of the Goddess had the power, and the ferocity, to tear through the laws of time and physics. It was an irony not lost on Louk. He was well aware that power required sacrifice. Olga's power came at the expense of her dearest friend. How she remained standing was a testament to her iron will. In so few days, she had lost the two most precious to her. Chloe's death had left her insensible in her grief, sent her into miserable days of weeping and raging behind a locked door. Her recovery came just in time to find Celeste's remains, and yet somehow she retained her sanity and her strength.

Louk admired that about her. He admired her strength, her drive, her beauty…

He had not allowed himself to have such thoughts in a long time. Grace had nearly made him succumb to desire; the gentle dark elf had undeniably found the chink in his armor and wrestled free a hint of longing he had kept bottled away for so long. In the end, though, his feelings had not been for her. Not how she feared, and wished, they might. Their affection was physical, teasing at a deeper attachment that both knew could not be. He had seen it in her eyes every day. And he was sure she had seen it in his.

No, the weakness Grace had found belonged to someone else.

Glancing down at the sketch of the city he had made, he forced himself to ignore the dark elf and study the troop deployments that Claudia had outlined. Twenty thousand soldiers, more or less. Less, in honesty. Had they been guardsmen with lasguns, they might have stood a chance. The sheer numbers that Virtuoso had at its beck and call were… impressive. He estimated the walls would hold for an hour. The White Citadel would fall four hours later.

That meant they had five hours, from the time of the assault. Olga claimed they had to wait for the assault. She did not explain why. Louk trusted her, and knew that she would keep her word. It was a frustrating place to be. Unable to help at the walls because he needed to be by her side, but unable to assist. He told himself he was here as a bodyguard. That was more or less true.

The shapes of the drawing seemed to shiver and waver before his eyes. Closing his eyes, Louk pinched the bridge of his nose and forced the pounding headache away. His thoughts went back to the night before.

You are my father.

The words had triggered a bloody rage. The remains of Alicia's host body were gone now, burned into ashes in the fireplace, hacked into small pieces by Durendal. The daemon had laughed as he tore it limb from limb. Only when he sliced its head in half had it finally gone silent, the room filled with the echo of its mocking laughter. Enraged, Louk had searched the whole tower, and found no trace of its presence. It had come alone. One by one, he had checked on those that mattered. Olga, Grace, Claudia. None had been touched.

He had wondered what the repercussions of the Reaper's death would be. Helsing had told him time and time again to not think no it. Pondering ones' fate rarely gave answers, and those that were found never brought happiness. For a time, he had allowed himself to forget his suspicions, his curiosity. Now that he had been forced to face the product of his father's great work, he wondered if it had been worth it.

The daemon had not lied. That, he believed. It had no reason to lie about something like that. It was… petty, for a daemon. And as unbelievable as his own story.

Had Helsing known? He might have, in a roundabout way. The Immaterium, for all the talk of chaos and anarchy that composed it, also had a strange sense of balance. The Ruinous Powers stood equally united and opposed with each other. When one fell, the others surged. But to create a brand new entity that replaced the one they had slain? If it were true, then defeating the daemon truly had done little other than save Helsing from his preordained fate.

It did sound like the kind of thing the bastard might have known, and gone through with it anyways.

Louk was tired. He was tired of fighting the daemon, tired of the eternal chase, the endless hunt for the foes of humanity. He was tired of losing allies and friends. All his life he had been on the run. Running from his foes or running to them. All he wanted was a modicum of quiet, a chance to stop running and stay in one place. To enjoy some of the simple things in life.

Simple things like a cabin by the river, lost to the world, spending his days with a beautiful woman like Olga Discordia.

Should immortality ever become a product, the lines for it would be endless. Louk pitied the fools that desired such a monstrous curse. The simple human life was a blessed thing. Grow, live, die. They had finality. Louk was sure he would know nothing but the hunt until the galaxy's sun burned out.

To hell with the chase.

Louk pushed off the wall and strode over to Olga. The sorceress ceased her recitations, turning lightly on the ball of her foot to regard him with her impassive, listless stare.

"You should eat" he told her. A servant had dropped off a meal for them hours before. It lay cold now, untouched by either of them.

"Later" Olga assured him. She reached down to the small table where her research lay. Picking up one of the diagrams, she held it up to inspect. Her expression grew pensive. "I am not yet ready."

"You are as ready as you can be. You won't be any good if you are exhausted and starving. Both are cause for mistakes."

"I do not make mistakes" Olga said icily. She set the paper down and reached for another.

Louk found himself torn between a grudging acceptance of her declaration and simmering irritation. As it stood, she was the most important being on the planet. It was her power that could defeat Virtuoso. And he would be damned before he let something as simple as hunger trip them up.

"Damn it, Olga, do I have to carry you over to the table?"

"There is too much to do" she snapped. "Lines to memorize. Rotations to align. You would not understand you simplt-"

Louk grabbed her arm and yanked her to him. Spinning off-balance, the dark elf let out a soft gasp of surprise, a sound which was smothered instantly as his lips caught hers. He pressed fiercely against her, his arm wrapped snugly against the small of her back. The velvety softness of her skin rubbed against his cheek; the silken touch of her hair tickled the back of his hand. He was vaguely aware of his free hand reaching up to cup her face, fingers tracing along her jaw until they crept into her hair and brushed against her ear.

He was not certain how long they stood there. Olga's eyes remained pinched firmly closed, her whole body trembling as he cautiously sampled her mouth. His hands moved restlessly, roaming ever upwards until his fingers curled in her hair, thumbs rubbing against her ears. A quiet, near silent moan slipped from her lungs, and her own hands came up to press against his chest. Agile fingers clutched at his collar, held him in place as if afraid he might step away and leave.

Easing back just slightly, Louk allowed their lips to part and gazed into Olga's amber eyes. Eyes that shone with an unreadable emotion. It was his turn to stand uncertainly, to watch with apprehension as the dark elf breathed a long, heavy sigh. Aware of how close they were, of how wonderful her body felt in his hands, he could only remain silent and await her word. For a horrible second, he feared she would push him away, that scorn would rise up and send him in retreat.

"It's about time" Olga whispered. Like a dam breaking, her composure crumbled, and the dark elf lunged upwards to catch his mouth in a furious, hungry kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck, hands clutching at his back as she urgently clung to him.

The heavy bang of a mailed gauntlet slamming on the door tore them apart. Olga took an unsteady step backwards, nearly stumbling over the table, and hastily smoothed her hair. Her face was flushed, lips moist and eyes wide as she struggled to compose herself. Louk refused to release her, settling instead with holding her by the waist. He felt the fury rising in his veins, the utter hatred of whatever bastard had decided to interrupt them.

"What" he demanded, his voice loud and angry.

The door opened partway to reveal one of the White Guard. The man eyed both Louk and Olga for a moment, his expression stiff and hostile. Then he bobbed his head with forced respect and pushed the door open all the way.

"The other dark elf wants to speak with you" he informed Louk. "Seeing as how she's been silent in her room for so long, thought it was urgent."

The heat in his blood cooled, and Louk nodded to the man in return. "Thank you. You may leave."

Closing the door, the guard left. Louk grimaced, unwilling to release Olga, even as he knew he should go see Grace. He had visited her, at least twice a day, but the woman was as close to non-responsive as could be. Always lying in bed, her eyes gazing vacantly at the far wall. He might have mistaken her for a corpse but for her steady breathing. She ate, sometimes, and drank a little when prompted to. It was clear that her will to live was fading, if she even still had it. Louk had seen it before, many times. Had their situation not been so dire, he would have tried to heal her. But he had never been a healer. He was a destroyer. Those he tried to heal or help often broke apart because of his actions.

Olga took his face gently in one hand, and guided him back to her. Her lips pressed softly against his, a promise that stirred his hunger and made his chest ache with longing. When she pulled back, he knew what she intended, and he reluctantly let his hands drop to his sides.

"Go to her" Olga ordered. She clutched his right hand and brought it up to nestle against her chest. He felt the strong, pounding beat of her heart there. "I will wait for you."

"When I get back" he promised.

She silenced him with a finger pressed against his lips. Her expression grew serious again, though there was a hint of exhilaration coloring her words. "When you get back."

His teeth itched with the desire to throw away his duties and responsibilities. There had been a time where he thought responsibility the realm of the damned. It was a horrid thing, a hated thing. It had been many years since he had cursed the concept as heartily as he did now. Every fiber of his being screamed to sweep Olga off her feet and carry her to her bed.

"I'll be right back."

Turning his back on Olga, Louk snatched up Durendal and buckled it to his waist. He hurried out the door. The lingering promise tasted sweet on his lips, and he desired nothing more than to be back in her arms. His whole body buzzed with a giddiness he had not felt in ages. The short walk down the passage left him breathing heavier than normal, and he stopped a moment to inspect the lone White Guard that stood at the entrance of the stairwell. There was only one, these days. Only a skeleton force remained in the tower. The others had been spread through the city to train the militia.

"You are dismissed" he told the guard. "Go to your barracks, or your unit, or your family. I don't care where. There's no reason for you to remain here."

The man eyed Louk for a long moment, suspicion clear on his features. After a few seconds of silence, the guard shrugged and lowered his spear. Retreating into the stairwell, he began the descent, leaving Louk alone in the hall.

His hands were trembling slightly. Stunned by the realization, Louk turned his hand over and examined his palm. Trembling. Why had it happened now? Out of all the times, all the places…

The gods had cruel humor.

It took him a few seconds to steady himself. When he knocked on Grace's door, he was himself again. Cold, stern, unyielding. The Reaper they all expected him to be. There was no answer from inside, but he found the door unlocked. Pushing it in, Louk braced himself and stepped inside. He was not sure what he would find. This was Anna's old room. True to her word, Grace had moved out, even after her friend's death. Staying in the bed Anna had died in could not have been healthy, but Grace had been unwilling to leave it.

Louk stepped inside the quiet, dark room, and found Grace standing alone in the center, clad in a simple nightgown that did little to hide her malnourished, weakened frame. Even though it had only been days, her lack of eating showed. She had been a skinny creature to start with, but now her figure was thinner and more fragile, almost like a precious doll. Dark, wet eyes turned slowly to regard him, and Louk was surprised to find a long knife in her hand.

"Grace" he said, keeping his voice level. "It's good to see you out of bed."

"This is the end" Grace whispered. "Isn't it?"

"The end?"

"I see the armies, Louk." She gestured towards the room's lone window with her knife. "Gods, there are so many of them. Are we all that is left?"

"The city is surrounded" he confirmed. There was no point in lying to her. She had earned the right to know. "And yes, the other lands have fallen."

"It can't… I won't survive it" she said. Tears tracked down her cheeks. Her eyes were remarkably clear, and glistened in the faint moonlight. "I don't… I don't have the strength."

He stepped closer, and Grace collapsed in his arms. Her tears wet his throat. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her tightly and wished he had something to tell her. But there was nothing. The city would fall. It was not in question. What could he promise Grace, who had always suffered through this once before?

"I won't be taken prisoner again" she murmured, sniffling back her tears.

"What would you do" he asked her. A sensation of dread settled in his chest, and he understood what she was about to ask.

"I… don't have the strength" she repeated. Pushing back slightly, she freed herself and held up the dagger. The tears flowed freely, drenching her cheeks as she stammered out her words.

"Grace…"

"Please, I don't want to suffer like that again. I know what they will do to me." The dark elf sobbed once, and nearly dropped the knife in her nerveless fingers. Louk snatched it out of her hand, but resisted the urge to hurl the weapon away.

"I won't let them take you alive" he assured her.

"You musn't! You can't. They violated me, they desecrated my body and tortured me and… and they…" Grace pressed back into his arms, weeping openly. Louk embraced her, held her head to his neck, and stared at the knife with distaste.

"You will never be harmed again" Louk promised her.

Grace shifted slightly, gazing up at him with teary eyes. "Will you make it quick?"

"And painless" he confirmed. "There are ways."

"Thank you. I…"

"I know." He kissed her forehead and looked away.

"Could… may I ask you one more thing?"

He risked looking her in the eye. His mouth tasted bitter with self-loathing as he gazed into her beautiful, pleading face. A face he had sworn to protect, like so many others.

"If I can give it" he told her.

"May I kiss you, one more time?" Grace bit her lip nervously. "I don't want to feel alone."

"I can do that." Louk tried to smile, but could not muster the strength. "Then we'll go downstairs. There's a quiet place in the gardens. You would like it there."

"Okay." Her chest shook with a hiccup, and Grace managed her own little smile. It was a pathetic, sad smile. The kind of accepting smile where one could only shake one's head and comment on the reality of things. Her lips parted slightly, and Louk leaned down to kiss the dark elf with a gentle, tender touch. Grace let out a ragged breath, shuddering in his arms. Her fingers crawled across his face, memorizing his features as if afraid she might forget them. There as a softness, a yielding to her touch. He had missed that, and he could not lie. But his only thought was for Olga, and he felt his chest tighten with regret as the tender thing in his arms pulled herself in closer, desperately sucking at his lower lip as she held him again. Her body gradually relaxed, losing some of the tension as she accepted that she had at least a few moments of happiness before the end.

Louk slid the knife into her neck just under her skull, driving the blade upwards and into the stem where her spine met were brain. Death was instantaneous, so quick and unexpected that her body did not even tense. Grace Campbell did not cry out or groan in death. Her body shivered, then went limp in his arms. Her soft eyes and happy smile remained fixed on her face, giving her a gentle and solemn death mask as Louk bent down to scoop up her legs and carry her out the door.

There were no servants about anymore. Those that had remained through the night had gone home, either to be with family or loved ones. The atmosphere was thick and sullen, the lingering fear sour on his tongue as he carried Grace's body down to the gardens. He knew where the tools were kept, and vowed he would bury her in the prettiest patch, a place where her body would be surrounded by beauty that paled in comparison to the lovely creature she was.

His throat burned as he dug her grave. Once or twice the ground grew blurry, and he had to stop and breathe deeply to calm himself. When he finished, the only sign of the dark elf's passing was a freshly leveled patch of earth.

He did not remember climbing the stairs back to Olga's room. Nor did he remember where he put the knife, or which faces he saw. Her door closed behind him, and he looked about the silent, empty room. There was no sign of Olga, but he could smell her. She had applied perfume. The same perfume Grace had taken from her room once before. It was a sweet, subtle fragrance. Mountain flowers and an icy spring.

The platter of food had been disturbed, but it did not look like she had eaten much. Something was better than nothing, he supposed. His attention shifted down to his hands, grimy from digging in the dirt. He could not touch her with those hands. Crossing over to the small basin that held water for washing, he glanced over the room and looked for the Dark Queen.

Olga lay on the sofa beside her notes, one arm tucked under her head. She was breathing deeply, sleeping. One hand hanging down to the floor, a paper crushed in her fingers. An empty bottle of wine lay on the floor. It was clear she had waited for him.

A bitter, frustrated chuckle eased out of his lungs. Louk washed his hands, watching the clear water darken with dirt and blood. When he finished he went to stand beside the sofa. Watching the dark elf sleeping, her limbs stiff and shoulder tense, he wondered if he should wake her. Not because he wanted to continue where they had left off; the opportunity had passed. She needed her rest, and Louk was not in the mood. Not when her sister-in-law's blood clung to his nails.

Easing himself to the floor, Louk laid down beside the sofa. He pried her the paper from her fingers and replaced it with his hand. Olga's thin fingers clutched tightly to him, and her expression relaxed visibly. The tightness fled from her limbs, and she murmured his name. Louk rolled onto his back, holding her hand over his chest, and stared up at the ceiling.

It was going to be a long night.

 **-v-**

The battle began at dawn. Thousands of orcs and men advanced out of the trees, charging for the walls with ladders. Orcs carried the ladders, protected by thick shields. There were no archers to support them, or siege weapons to batter at the defenders on the walls. With the defenders outnumbered ten-to-one, there was no need. Even though the walls of the city bristled with light siege equipment and archers, their defensive fire was pebbles thrown into the onrushing stream. There was no stopping the assault. There was no holding back the ladders.

No record was made of the doomed last stand.

Of how the survivors of Ansur fought tooth and claw over the northern wall, holding their ground to the last. Not a single beastkin left the wall, either in retreat or request for aid. They battled for three hours, savaging their foes. And the last warrior died with his back to the door of a tower, refusing to give his foes the stairs until the life left his body and he was torn limb from limb by orcs.

There would be no tale of the ethereal, wailing banshee-like figure that swept over the battlements of the western gate, a ghostly figure whose cries sent men and women alike crumbling to the ground as their bodies were seized with mind-numbing pleasure. Claudia Levantine herself led a counter-charge to destroy the creature, battling through its unholy powers and plunging her sword into its heart. The resulting explosion of magical energy shattered the gatehouse and hurled the Knight Levantine two city blocks, where she landed in a hay-filled loft and returned to lead a desperate defense of the city gate. Claudia fell to a troll, her body shattered beyond recognition as the beast stomped her corpse into the cobblestone.

The daemon's legion swept over the walls, and the city of Ken was barbarized. Blood ran thick along the roads. Houses were burned, and a roaring fire spread from numerous points in the city, consuming hundreds as the defenders tried anything to halt the unstoppable tide. The valiant few that had been held back at the White Citadel itself barred the gates, and thousands of refugees died outside the Citadel's walls as they were butchered by the ravening hordes of Virtuoso's foot soldiers. The guards themselves fought admirably, holding the smaller perimeter for two more hours.

The city was well and truly lost by noon.

Louk stared down at the burning city. He and Olga stood on the very top of the White Citadel, far detached from the bloodshed and madness running rampant below. That was the way of it, the way of her plan. She explained it after reaching the peak, and though he had expected it, Louk still resented the truth of the matter.

The power of the Goddess, as she called it, was entirely independent of a person's magical power. It was a wild magic, a primordial essence left behind from the creation of the world. Even with her own magical power reduced to practically nothing, she could draw on the full power of the Goddess. But even that was not enough for the task at hand. What Olga planned was something that defied the laws of nature itself. She would tear a hole in the fabric of existence.

To amass the power necessary, she needed another source. And Olga Discordia revealed her expertise with a dark, unnatural power, the very power that had led her to command the Demon Legion, and ultimately drained her natural abilities as the cost.

Necromancy.

The wind howled at his back. He glanced over at the slight figure as she stood alone, untouched by the gale-force winds that pushed outwards from her marker. Black clouds pooled about her feet, soaking into her clothes and spilling up her legs. Her eyes glowed with a fey light. Dark, guttural sounds emerged from her small mouth. The deaths of tens of thousands had given the air at the top of the tower a charged, crackling heaviness. He felt the oppressive weight of death clinging to his limbs. He saw the darkness emerge from her hands, joining the spiraling dance of light as she guided and shaped the magic through dozens of ritual circles and incantations. Basking in the power of the Goddess and Death, he was certain she may have even wielded the power to challenge Virtuoso.

She had been at it for hours now. Ever since the first death. All this time, the power continued to grow, to build. It was unbearable. Stuck on the tower, watching the city burn and die, and though he stood just feet away from Olga, Louk could do nothing to help her. And so he remained silent, and stared down at the burning city.

The gate of the White Citadel must have been breached, because a flood of tiny, dark shapes flooded into the courtyard. They would be coming up soon. Hopefully they had stood long enough. If not, he was more than ready to spill polluted blood with Durendal.

As he turned to go to the stairs, the light was sucked from the tower. The world drained of color, sound vanished in an eerie, vacuum-like pop, and Louk's sense of balance heaved dangerously sideways. He stumbled, foot nearly sliding over the edge of the tower, and stabbed his sword into the marble to hold himself in place.

The door is open Olga shouted, her voice faint and whisper-soft.

The world ended at the center of the tower. He stared into the gaping hole, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was looking at. It was as if night had fallen around them, but he could see the sunlight blazing down. Olga remained rooted in place, her hair splayed out and wild, hanging loose on the air. Sweat dripped down her face; blood leaked from her dry lips.

You must go!

Louk pushed himself to his feet. Each step took minutes. His body moved so slowly, dream-like as he forced his body towards the nothingness that awaited. Durendal boiled in his hand. It shone with a bloody red glow, filling the air as a light might in the fog. Lungs burning, muscles aching in protest, he reached Olga's side, and stretched out a hand to clasp hers.

Go she told him. Her eyes were vibrant, powerful, gleaming. Soft fingers brushed against his arm and he staggered forwards, pushed towards his goal.

Louk staggered up to the tear, and his eyes burned at the sight of what lay inside. His soul recoiled from its touch. Turning back to Olga, he waited for her to join him.

It is not my place she told him. I must hold it open.

He shouted for her to come, he started back to fetch her, but his feet walked inexorably backwards.

Go, my love.

Blurred, shadowy figures emerged from the stairs. Flashes of light scoured them from the tower. Louk's heart ceased to beat, he felt his limbs going cold and numb as Olga thrust out her hand, and he sank into the tear. More shapes appeared. More flashes of light wiped them from the world. Then a brilliant color flooded across the roof, cutting through the darkness and stabbing deep into Louk's mind.

Virtuoso pierced the darkness, its body ravaged and broken, limping on shattered legs as Alicia's half-rotted body wrapped around Olga and embraced her. The dark elf's body glowed white, and the daemon screamed in hatred and ecstasy.

Go now!

Alicia's eye burst, splattering into the darkness where it coated the air. It glared out at him through its empty sockets, and a gruesome smile formed on its flame-scoured jaw.

"I will see you soon" it cackled.

Louk hesitated in the tear, helpless as the daemon pressed down on the dark elf, spreading its body to cover her even as she continued to bathe it in a furious light. He gripped Durendal and pushed back against the tear, rage bubbling in his chest as Olga's scream ripped th-

A sudden chill swept across his body. Louk shivered involuntarily, his fingers tightening on his arms. He blinked rapidly, fighting back the surge of adrenaline that burst through his veins in an exploding river. The heat of dissipating magic scraped across his skin; wild magic, untainted by the decadent hand of the Immaterium. Vult did not appear to notice, too engrossed in his study of the demon camp.

"So what have you heard about the Dark Queen?" Vult waved absently in his direction.

Louk stared at the man, silent as he assessed his position. They stood at the edge of camp, looking out at the Black Fortress and the Demon Legion forces assembled. It was a familiar scene, and he felt the dizziness fading from his limbs as he gripped Durendal until his palm bled.

"Louk?"

The mercenary general gazed at him sidelong, a bemused expressed creasing his stern features. "Something on my face?"

White-hot rage speared through Louk's thoughts. Durendal sang in his hand, and Vult's corpse toppled to the ground. For a long, breathless moment he gazed down at the headless corpse. The air was loud and filled with the waning clamor of the camp. A heavy shudder wracked his lungs.

Olga had been left behind. She must have known. Why had she not told him?

A shout rang out to his left. He turned, and saw one of the Black Dog sentries, his eyes wide with horror at the sight of Vult's body. Turning on his heel, the mercenary fled into the camp, bellowing the alarm.

Louk shook the blood from Durendal's blade. His rage continued to burn bright inside him.

It was going to be a bloody night.

 **-v- The Black Fortress, Garan**

By the time he reached Olga's throne room, it was already dark. Louk's arms ached. His muscles burned and cramped so badly that even his natural healing could not keep up. Durendal slid in his grasp, so drenched in blood and gore he could only hold it because the sticky blood had formed like glue on his hand. Blood soaked every inch of clothing he owned. His laspistol was gone, abandoned hours ago after he shattered it on a skull. All that was left was his sword.

The doors of the throne room stood open, inviting him in. Inside the chamber he found Olga sitting motionless on her throne. Her half-elf retainer crouched at her feet, face buried in the older dark elf's lap. They were not alone; a sleek, towering orc loomed just beside and behind them. Its body lacked the typical fattiness of the others. It was slim, beautiful, and it held a long and curved claw to the dark elf sorceress' throat.

"Hello again" the orc growled, its voice too soft and rich to come from such a creature. A feral smile built on its lips. "You came to quickly."

"Let her go." Louk raised Durendal with a shaking arm. Her was tired. Throne, he was tired. His legs screamed for the need to sit. Every breath came out harsh and desperate.

"Let her go" the daemon repeated. It glanced down at Olga, who stared at Louk with that enchanting listless frown. "Such a simple request. No grand speech? No heroic entrance? You make me sad."

The room lurched upwards suddenly. Louk spent a moment on his knees, palms flat on the faded carpet. He closed his eyes, concentrated on his breathing. The pain was fading slowly. Even now, the aches and cramps were losing their intensity. A few minutes of rest, and he would be able to fight the bastard.

"I could let her go" the daemon mused. "After all, I already have one. But this one…" its claw drifted down Olga's body, plucking at her corset as it stretched down to caress Chloe's hair. The half-elf stiffened, but did not move. "I could have the complete set. And I do so love to collect things."

"I am going to kill you here" Louk snarled. "And you have nowhere to run."

"Yes, I felt your mindless slaughter." The daemon gestured dismissively. "Such a brute. Such a limited strategy. Remove the spider's web, and the spider has nowhere to flee."

"Something like that" Louk agreed. He eased himself to his feet, and shook his loosening arms.

"There… is a problem" the daemon cooed. Coming from a monster's mouth, the feminine tone sounded entirely wrong. It extended a second finger, and cupped Olga's jaw between its claws. The dark elf grimaced ever so slightly, but did not dare move.

"I did not think you a coward. Hiding behind women." Louk spat on the floor. "Come and face me."

"I can, and I will" the daemon insisted, nodding slowly. "And when you slay this host, I will have no choice but to find another."

He stopped advancing, eyes narrowing as a long, thick tongue slicked out of the daemon's mouth and caressed Olga's ear. This time the dark elf did move, flinching away from the touch. Blood trickled down the daemon's claw from where it cut her jaw.

"Can you do it, I wonder?" Virtuoso smiled warmly. "Would you be able to end her life? Kill her, in order to save her?"

"Yes" he answered, not bothering to think it over. But the thought of it stopped his heart, and he glanced away from her questioning gaze.

"I am sure you would. Mortal love, so predictable." The daemon's tongue retreated, and it shifted to the other side of the throne. Leaning in close, it pressed its lips beside her ear. Olga's eyes widened, and she tried to pull away, but it caught her and held her in place. "And so refreshingly strong sometimes. Shall I tell you what you left behind? What this brave, brave little creature endured?"

Louk lurched forwards, taking Durendal in both hands. The daemon tut-tutted, wagging a finger at him.

"Now, now, you wouldn't want my fingers to slip. This is such a pretty face, after all. I have spent so much time on this pretty face. Breaking her, rebuilding her, savoring every nerve in her body." It grinned, and its face seemed to split like an ugly wound. "It took her a long time to forget your name. I kept her for my own use, my exclusive toy, for such a long time. Did you know? She has this spot, just below the tip of her ears. Oh, she writhes when you bite her there. Do you want me to demonstrate?"

The daemon's teeth clicked menacingly next to her. Olga's mouth twitched, and she wrapped her arms over Chloe's head. It was clear she knew better than to move, to speak up. The stabbing, accusatory gazes she cast his way struck him like swords being shoved deep into his heart. Fear, terror, confusion. She knew nothing, remembered nothing. How could she?

A tear tracked down his cheek, and he started forward. Reaching the foot of the elevated platform that housed her throne, he stopped for a moment and studied Chloe's silent form. Her body was still as the grave.

"What will it be" the daemon asked.

"Olga."

Her name spilled from his lips, and it felt like a piece of his soul went with it. Olga stiffened, and the daemon stepped back. Taking that as permission, she carefully rose. The dark elf set her retainer's head down on the seat.

"Who… are you" she asked.

"Either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish" he offered weakly.

Olga gazed down at him, her brows twitching in concentration. Virtuoso's claw came up and pressed lightly against her back. She stepped forwards, escaping his razor-sharp claw.

"You killed Vult" she stated. "This… creature. It says you have come to kill it."

"I have."

"I feel that I know you from somewhere." She said it as dryly as if remarking on the state of the carpet. "Why is that?"

He had no answer for her. Nothing that she could comprehend. How could he explain what they had been through? Choosing a simpler, better option, he stepped in close. Her breathing quickened at his proximity, but she did not shy away.

Chloe was dead, he saw. There was a pinprick of a hole at the base of her neck. A single smear of blood, barely more than a drop, denoted its location. Had the daemon done it, or had Olga?

He drew in close, and she gazed up at him with cautious, suspicious eyes. Louk leaned in closer, bringing his head even with hers. She smelled wonderful. His hands ached with the urge to snatch her up and hold her.

The faintest spark of violet flickered in her pupils. Louk noted it, and it felt like the ground gave way under his feet. Clutching her suddenly by the shoulders, he pulled her close and embraced her. She gasped in shock, hands shoving impotently against his chest.

"Grace is alive" he murmured.

Olga's body went rigid with shock. She sucked in a fierce breath, eyes widening at his revelation. Too startled to respond, she merely gaped at him and mouthed a silent question.

Durendal plunged into her chest. The blade slid between her ribs and snuffed out her life with the same ease he ended any life. It was… a quiet thing, anticlimactic. Olga hissed, the air leaving her lungs, and slumped in his arms. Louk eased her body to the floor and turned to face the daemon.

Virtuoso clapped its meaty hands, sizzling tears spilling down its cheeks. It moved away from the throne, arms held out wide to welcome him. "If you could see your face… you brought me to such a succulent world. I must show you my appreciation for this exquisite diversion."

Coming to a halt just inside his strike distance, the daemon thrust back its head and exposed its throat. It gestured for him to strike, and peered down at him with one eye. Louk waited, expecting a trap.

"Come now, you were so eager just a moment ago."

"Why aren't you fighting?"

"I don't need to." The daemon's grin widened even further, tearing the skin from its face.

"I already have this world. What use is taking it a second time. There is nothing new here. It is all the same."

"It won't be with you gone."

"Yes…" Virtuoso nodded. "You have made sure of that. Eostia's defenses gutted, the Dark Queen slain. You could return to their goddess in triumph."

"I kill you, and I go home" Louk growled.

"Do you, now?" The daemon's eyes glittered. It lowered its head finally, revealing a smile that had torn through its cheeks and rent flesh all the way back to its ears. Blood and puss oozed down its jaws. "I think you are mistaken. I will return to where I came from, but then I will go back to where we both belong. But you, you cannot follow me a second time. You will stay here, I would think. Here with the woman you murdered, the land whose army you butchered. Left alone, while I get to visit those precious daughters you left behind. I would so dearly love to meet my sist-"

Louk brought Durendal down with a roar. The runed blade cleaved through flesh and bone, shattering the daemon's host body and rending its corporeal form with a thunderous shriek of dying souls. The daemon howled, its scream bursting his ear drums and eyes. The world went white.

And Louk Shannegh died.


	31. It Can't Be Over

**A/N: SURPRISE! Bet you weren't expecting a) an epilogue, and b) this quickly. Has nothing to do with NaNoWriMo, I promise. I was just on fire to get this puppy done.**

 ** **Reviewers:**  
 **Guest - I am glad you like it despite the sadness.  
DarkQueenOriga – I can promise you, you won't be expecting this epilogue.  
**FrancisVamp0822 – Probably drink myself under a bridge. :D Was hoping it would be a shocker.  
DanteInfernus – I mean, you technically aren't wrong, but I wouldn't agree with your fears.  
ManwithaPlan113 – Purgatory is real, son of the God-Emperor! Until we cleanse the daemon from reality.  
TwinkieMain – Was hoping it would be a well-played card and not come across as an "I Win" button.  
Guest 2 – It is a Warhammer ending.  
Gabriel – IT'S OVER 9000!  
EnriksD8 – See, I stopped watching Text to Speech after the first season. It was funny, but the fanbase drove me up the wall. They are the 40k version of Rick and Morty fans. Louk kind of died. But he gets better. He always gets better, which is both awesome, but exhausting.  
89 – Louk definitely doesn't have snapping power, but I can't promise it won't stay a bad ending.  
Guest 3 – I mean, at least I don't have a thousand plot holes relating to time travel in this story. :D  
Disciple of Ember – Never actually watched or read any of the Fate series. They look interesting, but can't bring myself to look them up. And yes, Louk's family is getting pretty big. And awkward. Real awkward family reunions.  
Guest 4 – Olga, the forever virgin. Grace… Mournival still happened, so…  
Janne Rolfe Jalandoni – He doesn't have time to rest. He's got reviving to do.  
Razorclaw Predacon – Yeah… it sucks. As the Halo Announcer says… Double Kill!  
Ekurman – It certainly was a rollercoaster.  
Abdiel Amaro – Louk made the mistake of holding onto a daemon when it exploded. That was no Bueno. And loving that someone posted the reverse Star Wars reference. I almost put that in the previous Louk story, but thought it inappropriate.**

* * *

He remembered this room. Rot and rust coating the bolt that held the prefabricated shelter together. Black stains on the grated metal floor, the walls, and sometimes the ceiling. A gutted dresser with one battered drawer, filled with baubles and shiny trinkets they scrounged in the alleys. A single faded lumenstrip flickered weakly overhead, casting a gloomy pall in the interior. It was a tiny space. Ten steps from wall to wall, twelve steps from door to the back wall. They did not have a bed; not a real one, at least. A rotten mattress that squirmed with lice and vermin. The air stank of promethium fumes and rancid gas. Thunderous noises rattled the shelter, the din of a hive city always in motion. It was a wretched place.

But it had been his.

He stretched out a hand for the worn, orange-stained door. The motors on the slides had failed centuries ago, if not longer. They had to pry their little fingers into… there, and he eased the door open. It shrieked, groaning in protest as he forced it aside. Once upon a time, it felt like trying to shift the world itself. Now it weighed practically nothing.

"I wouldn't go out there."

The words slunk out of the darkness. Bright, cheerful words in a voice he had not heard in so long he hardly remembered them. His grip on the door tightened, bending the weakened fiberplas until it crunched.

"You are dead" he grunted.

"Rude." Her voice was… so young. So innocent and lively. Sing-song, childlike.

He turned his head, dragging his eyes along the wall. His skin crawled at the thought of what he might find. Apprehension knotted his stomach.

The small figure sat on the mattress, her thin face bright despite the grime and dust caked on her skin. Thin, bony arms rested on her knees. She as so painfully thin. A lifetime of malnourishment and starvation, a scene repeated infinitely across the broad Imperium. But her eyes still shone with life, and she offered her crooked smile as she eased off the mattress and stood. For a long time, she had towered over him. She had been his only family and had fed him, clothed him, raised him. Now she hardly reached his chest, and he wondered if he had even noticed the changes. How their heights had leveled, how he grew strong and wiry while she remained weak and spindly.

"You've gotten so big, Lucky" she cooed, reaching out to grasp at his hand. He flinched back, wariness prickling his flesh.

"Where are we?"

"That's a silly question. We're home." She turned daintily on her toes, throwing her arms out wide as if to show off the room. The dirty, ragged shift she wore barely held to her shoulders. He could see so much of her underneath. Skin clinging to ribs. Bruises on her hips from where the men clawed at her small body.

"You died."

"Me, dead?" She chuckled lightly. "That's a strange dream."

But this was the dream, wasn't it?

"I… I killed you."

Mouline pulled open the drawer of their broken dresser, fishing about the container. "You must have hit your head, Lucky. I can't be dead. I'm right here."

She turned around, and he felt the sliver of dread lance through his belly. A gruesome, crawling gash had opened up the front of her dress and split her skin. Seemingly oblivious to the wound, Mouline stepped up to him, her hands clasped tightly together. He knew what lay between her palms. But it was wrong. She had not been this young. And the wounds were not there yet.

"Lucky?" Mouline frowned, gazing down at the wound. "Lucky… I… what did you do?"

Her lip pulled slightly, twitching as another bloody gash traced its way across her chest, cutting just under her collarbone. She screamed, her face twisting in agony, tears pouring down her cheeks. But she did not drop the precious item in her hands, she did not thrash or fight or try to pull away. Her body melted away from his touch. Louk lunged to catch her, to hold her as another cut bloomed down her right arm, spreading from her wrist to her elbow. The cuts came quickly. He remembered each one. Opening her veins, collecting her blood in bowls.

Her screams pounded in his ears. She shrank away from him, melting into the floor, her skin bubbling as the heat of welding torches scalded her to the bone. Helpless, Louk grabbed at her wispy form, his fingers passing through her as if she was not truly there. She shriveled on the floor, body twisting and spasming, until she went blessedly still.

"S-s-s-shame" a voice hissed from the doorway.

Louk rounded on the intruder, his fists coming up and ready to defend himself.

Gutterball slunk into the cell. The misshapen ratman had always scurried rather than run, slunk rather than walked. His filthy clothes were layered on, obscuring his misshapen frame, hiding dozens of pouches filled with vials, jars, weapons. They had been allies, for a time. Allies was not the proper word for it. Work partners. Louk had always despised the creature.

"What are you" Louk demanded.

The creature slipped past him, ignoring his question entirely. Sidling up to the metal slab that served as the cell's bedframe, it ran a gentle, loving hand along the cold steel surface. "You k-k-killed me, here. Do you remember?"

He did, but he did not. Gutterball's death was a blur. He vaguely recalled the taste of acrid gas on his tongue. Breathing in stinking fumes and tasting vile blood. The mutant stared up at him, eyes twinkling under its cowl.

"My head… there." It pointed a too-long finger, tipped with a nail too thick to be ordinary but too thin to be a claw. "All over the w-w-wall."

"I am sure you deserved it" Louk grunted. He placed his back to the cell wall. On the _Hound's Call_ , in the passage he had practically lived in for a time. Been forced to live in for a period of that. He remembered this cell, though they were all the same. The cell where the eldar warrior he affectionately had referred to as Angry Eyes. Throne, how she loathed him.

Gutterball lurched suddenly into the wall, thrown like a ragdoll. His skull cracked, and black blood spread in his wake. Again and again, his body was slammed into the unyielding metal. Broken and crushed until there was hardly anything left of his skull above the spinal cord. The slick, sickening taste of mutant blood flowed down Louk's throat. He retched, but it continued to dance and frolic in his mind.

"You leave only death in your wake" the third one announced.

This time Louk did not turn. He refused to, even though the walls and ground gave way, pitching into darkness only to be replaced by a vibrant, unsullied valley stretching for endless kilometers ahead. The loose rock crunched under his boots, and the bellowing roars of vox-enhanced lungs echoed mutely behind him. The air tasted of fyceline and blood. Blood for the servants of the Blood God.

The Eldar stood to his left, resplendent in the strange xenos armor they recovered on their evacuation of the ship. Her strange xenos weapon hissed and spat swarms of whistling dics, each tiny and deadly-sharp. Facing down monstrous demigods, she stood her ground and fired as they rushed down the slope.

"I didn't have a choice."

"Spoken like a true _monkeigh_." Her dismissive tone dripped hostility and acid. A venom he had never truly been relieved of. "Your entire race is unable to claim responsibility for their failures. You hide in self-pity and delusion."

"What was I supposed to do" he demanded, rounding on the xenos warrior.

"You ask questions whose answers are already known."

Two armored warriors crashed down onto the narrow path they had scouted. The hulking Astartes monsters charged after the retreating xenos, but she dodged and danced between them as if they were clumsy children.

"They aren't known to me" Louk snarled. He stepped through one of the Astartes. The battle continued to rage. One of the monsters tumbled to the ground, a sizzling hole blasted through his armor from the plasma pistol Louk had snatched up. They fought the last one together, but it was a greater opponent than the others. She turned to face him, snatching the soulstone from her throat and hurling it to him.

 _Remember her, Louk Shannegh. It is the only thing that will end this._

Those words did not come from the Lidrana standing in front of him. They came from the Lidrana of that time. Her eyes burned fiercely, glowing with witch-power as she spoke to him. Louk had the unsettling feeling that she had been speaking to him then, but she was also speaking to him now.

A strong blow hurled him backwards and he fell from the cliff.

"Oh, I do believe he is alive in there." Abara studied him curiously, his glasses glinting in the light. Kneeling in the grass, surrounded by warding runes and sigils, he struggled to rise. The abominable pressure forced him down, pinned him to the ground. "Putting up a valiant fight, I should say."

"Abara."

"He remembers me. Excellent! Do you understand, Reaper?"

"No. You died. They all died."

"Yes, that is what mortals do. Something you will never get the opportunity to fully savor."

"Why are they here? Where is… here?"

"Too many questions, Reaper. That _is_ what I should call you, isn't it?" Abara approached closer, daring to stand at arm's length. "Really, I don't know why you got so worked up over this one."

"This… what? Have I died?" Louk strained to rise. Each word dragged like nails across his mind.

"I would think so." Abara pushed his glasses further up his nose. "I am never wrong."

"But I wasn't… I wasn't finished."

"Oh, I think you were quite done Rea-" Abara's throat opened in a great bloody spray. The witchling sank to his knees, grasping pitifully at his neck.

The hunger surged inside him. Ravenous, unforgiveable hunger. His fingers itched to lunge to the body, mouth blazing with a fire he had suppressed for so long. Flashes of agony stabbed through his mind, his body.

"Rippa!" The towering brute slowed to a stop as his body hurtled away from it, pointing a length of steel that ten men would have struggled to lift. "Wut you'z doin', Rippa?"

"Trying to figure that out" Louk gasped. He hurt. Every bone in his body ached. Every vein scratched for release. The ogryn took a step back, confusion on its face.

"Rippa! Why's you lookin' funneh?"

"End me or let me go" Louk screamed, howling into the distant clouds that rumbled overhead. The air swirled around them, shrieking and screaming. "Enough of this!"

The ogryn swung its weapon. "Rippa! Pleahs! I don' wanna hurt you."

"No!" He turned away, not willing to watch what was to come. Dunker's massive frame seemed to slide across the ground, always just in front of him. It howled in confused agony, too dumb to understand why its skin sizzled and burned as a great hunk of meat was torn from the brute's shoulder. "What do you want, you bastard!"

The ogryns' mouth opened wide, pried apart by invisible hands. Terrified noises whimpered out of the brute as it desperately tried to close its mouth. With a gruesome crack, the jaw broke. As the muscles tore he gave a great wrench, and tore the ogryn's head from its neck. Blood geysered into the air, showering the fluids of death all around.

Louk screamed in rage.

The world fell quiet, silent. The wind ceased whistling, the grass ceased blowing. He stood alone in the grass. He knew what…who… was coming next.

"Don't" he begged.

The slim figure padded into his vision, her petite frame dwarfed by the massive rifle strapped to her back. The thin, silvery wires of a garotte wrapped along her right forearm. Glossy black hair clumped about her shoulders, poorly cut and poorly treated. A drab, cameleoline cloak had been tied up on her shoulders.

"So demanding" Anna said, her voice flat and inflectionless. The dark-eyed sniper stopped just a few feet in front of him. "You know, you were a lot more fun when you were just an asshole. Then you went and became all _responsible_."

The word spat out of her mouth like poison. Waggling her eyebrows knowingly, she leaned in close. Her very presence churned his stomach. He grit his teeth against the miasma of wrongness that swept in advance of her approach.

"You shouldn't be here." He glared at the impudent smirk on her child-like face. It was a false smile. All of her expressions were fake and manufactured.

"That's just plain rude, you dumb fuck." She snickered, and started unwrapping the garrote from her arm. " _You_ shouldn't be here. You should be dead. Perma-gone. Obliterated. But you aren't, because you're a cheating ass."

"Is this the Warp?" Louk glanced past her, struggling to focus on the distant landscape. The shapes blurred and shifted, refusing to be identified.

"Wow, you aren't absolutely clueless." She paused in her unwinding of the weapon. Flashing him a knowing grin, she stamped her foot once, and a rush of vertigo sent Louk staggering to his knees. The world became dark. Pitch black, empty. He tried to find a grip to stand and slid to his stomach.

"So what does that make you?"

"It makes me whatever I want to be" she answered.

Her boots clicked on the void, her body circling underneath him like he was trapped in a clear glass ball, and she was on the surface. Gazing down at him between her feet, she flexed her toes once.

"You clearly brought me here for a reason."

"Did I, now? That's presumptuous."

"And you clearly don't understand Anna."

Anna grimaced faintly, a real expression that he would never have seen on the tiny little monster. She brought the garotte up, settling her chin on the thin wire, and sighed heavily. "I have to admit, this one is a bit tough. Squirrely, even. These damned pariahs of yours. Useful, but obnoxious. Perhaps you would like something else?"

A violent squeal burst from the small figure. Blood splattered from the back of her skull, and she collapsed lifelessly. Shame, and fury, boiled in his chest. Louk crawled over to the corpse, but it faded into ash and disappeared in emptiness of the void.

"Perhaps you would like this better?"

A blonde woman in a striking red uniform eyed him with her ever-familiar frown. It was a grimace he had seen hundreds, if not thousands, of times before. Eulogy Jones glanced down at the vacant spot where Anna's corpse had been.

"Eul…" he caught himself. This was not real. None of it was real.

"Oh, it most assuredly is real, Louk." Her voice was sharp, authoritative. It carried the right blend of haughty disdain and warm affection that never failed to make him smile. At first he had hated the Praetorian officer. Loathed her, and lusted after her. She had been the one to reteach him what it meant to be human after Warsaw. When they went side by side into the hellhole that was Gehenna.

Eulogy Jones was also the healthiest relationship he had ever held with a woman, which was pretty damn pathetic, considering.

"You won't tell me what you are. You won't tell me where I am. What will you tell me?"

"I can tell you so many things. Things about you, about the creature you hunt." Her mouth formed that beautiful, confident grin he adored. "You always were a fan of the hunt."

"I am tired of the hunt." He shrugged weakly. At some point he had stood up, or perhaps his orientation had shifted and he was still lying down.

"You aren't a quitter, Louk."

"I never said I was."

"And yet you gave up so easily."

She stepped closer. The familiar tang of burnt ozone, fyceline, and blood mingled in his nostrils. For a long, painful moment he remembered what it was like to hold her. Four decades had passed too quickly. His palms itched to take her hand, to feel the callouses on her fingers from wielding her weapons. To run his fingers along her muscular belly and thin hips. It had been a very long time. So long he had resigned himself to forget her face, her voice.

"Where is the Reaper, Louk? Where is the beast, the hunter, the proud creature that spat in the eyes of gods?"

"That Reaper is long dead" he answered, daring to hold her smoldering gaze. Her lips brushed against his, touching so softly he swore he imagined it. The woman before him was no dainty creature. Beautiful, desirable, but not soft. Had he ever accused her of that, she might have shot him and left him to bleed in the dust.

"Why did it die?"

"It died," he answered, his words choking in his throat, "when you died."

Her expression went slack. A dark stain spread down from her shoulder, stretching from her collarbone down to her sternum. A glistening wetness filled her eyes as she gazed at him, and the damning smile of hers was more painful than any wound he had ever received. Words formed in her throat, but her head jerked backwards, throat opened to her spine. She too dropped away.

"But it came back" Jaycel reminded him. The tattooed bodyguard looked remarkably health, happy even. The rare occurrence was explained when a graceful figure slinked around the man, her hands tight around Jaycel's arm as she clung to his side. The cloth-blind psyker leaned up to kiss Jaycel's cheek, and snuggled into his arm. His smiled widened a hair.

"And then it died. Again and again. Three times… four. Sometimes I don't remember."

"It is a gift." His former bodyguard reached up and caught Sameen's jaw. Guiding her head to his shoulder, he smiled down at the woman. The pair could not have been more mismatched. A well-trained assassin, veteran of dozens of engagements and schooled in a thousand skills. A young and innocent girl, persecuted for her unnatural abilities and convinced that her deserved fate was skated to a fire.

He remembered their bodies, draped over each other, their lives snuffed out because of that passion they had dared to share.

"You taught me value of life" Sameen whispered, the eerie dissonance of her words grating in his ears. "Life must be protected."

"Not my life." He shook his head.

"But you save life. This is what you do."

Louk gave a dismissive shrug. "Haven't been very good at it. It's damn exhausting, failing every time. Watching worlds burn because you could not catch the heretic fast enough. Losing a friend because you let him on his own too soon."

It was Jaycel that answered his claim. The handsome gunslinger clutched his chest, hiding the growing bloodstain pooling over his heart. "And yet you can learn from your mistakes. Every loss makes you stronger. No one gets that opportunity like you do."

"Opportunity means nothing when I can't save those I've lost."

Jaycel staggered to his knees, and slumped lifelessly on his back. Sameen wailed, crouching over his corpse, screaming into his chest until she snapped forwards, a crisp hole drilled through the back of her skull.

 _Opportunity?_

This voice was new. It was soft, melodic. The first musical notes of her thoughts tickled his ears, sent a shiver rushing up his spine. Louk gasped faintly, and refused to turn to face the newest arrival. Some of the deaths he had refused to acknowledge. Others he hated to see. The one standing behind him… He would rather die every day than turn to face her.

There was only one person it could be.

"I caused you so much pain" he mumbled. "Throne, I caused everyone so much pain."

 _It truly is your pride_ she told him. Her words carried no judgement, no scorn. They caressed his weary thoughts as surely as a mother caressed her child.

"I killed you."

 _My death… it was foretold. There was nothing you could do_.

"Feck fortelling. To hell with prophecy! I could have stopped it all. I could have been strong. I could have-"

 _You could have not loved me?_

He sensed the hurt in her thoughts, and tears formed in his eyes. It was a damning thing to say. He hated himself for even thinking it. Because of him she had suffered horribly.

Soft hands crept up his back. He shivered and stepped away, but she stayed close to him. Thin lips pressed against his back; he felt the gentle touch through his coat as if he wore nothing. It burned on his skin, set his nerves on fire and only sharpened the pain in his heart.

"That isn't fair."

 _Fair?_ Her amusement cut him like a knife. _Such a childish statement._

"Cruel, then."

His skin crawled as her hands slid apart, roving under his shoulder and coming around to wrap about his chest. The faint brush of her eartip on his neck caused Louk to groan.

 _Perhaps. But I would not have traded it for a thousand years. We created life._

"Bitter lives" he countered. "They are outcasts on all sides."

 _But they are alive. It is a gift you gave them._ She kissed his shoulder. _I am content_. _Our time was fleeting, even for your kind. You should let it go._

"Let what go?"

 _Everything you have lost. You cannot carry regret for eternity. Even we do not let our fears and sorrows consume us. To go forward you must be strong. You must hold onto the good that you have accomplished, and abandon your weakness._

"So I am supposed to just… let it go."

 _You have been blessed with a great gift. The ability to battle evil for all time. It is not a happy gift. But it is precious. There will always be loss, suffering. That is the way of life. It is up to you to leave more good than evil._

"Doesn't seem like that's possible."

 _Just as it does not seem like the man I fell in love with would ever surrender. Not the man who challenged champions of the Darkness. The man who uncaged himself from the bonds of mankind's greatest soldiers._

She slipped under his arm, her face pressed tight to his coat. Louk averted his gaze, unwilling to see the rich, breathtaking blue of her eyes, or the pure white skin of her face, or the fiery red of her hair. She was an angel made manifest. A being of sure purity and loveliness that her fading memory still caused him to weep for what he had done to her.

 _It is no small thing, what you have accomplished. Time and time again. Know that I am waiting for you. But I do not require you to wait for me._

"I… don't know what that means."

She leaned up and placed a single, chaste kiss on his lips. The Eldar sorceress faded away, sparing him the horrors of her death, vanishing in the dark as if she had never been there.

In her place, a tiny Eldar child sat cross-legged, covered by an elegant and multi-hued cloak that shimmered with each move of its tiny arms. The child had stones in its hands, and cast them as if seeking some mystical answer in their placement.

"What the hell was this" Louk demanded. He gestured with his arms. "What the hell was all of this?"

"A learning experience" the child answered. Though small and unassuming, its voice came deeply and richly, far too old and powerful for such a slight frame. It staggered Louk, knocking him back a pace.

"For me?"

"Or me. Both. Neither. Does it matter?" The child lifted its head, revealing deep black eyes that reflected nothing. "You intrigue me."

"And who are you?"

"I am something very old." The child chuckled softly.

"A daemon?"

"Perhaps. Some would consider me a daemon. Others a god. The truth, like all truths, varies depends on perspective."

"Truth is absolute" Louk snapped.

"No…" the being chuckled louder, and pointedly picked up one of its cast stones. Inverting the stone, it set the piece back. "It is not."

"So you are a daemon. One of the Chan-"

"Do not dare group me with those wretches" the child snarled. The power in its voice battered him to his knees. Louk groveled, unable to lift his head against the immense pressure of its wrath. It lasted only a second, then faded in place of a giggling, shrill laugh. "I have heard so much about you. Your human stubbornness is a compliment to your newborn race."

"Newborn? Humans have been around for-"

"For far too little time to be considered anything but" the figure chided. "You think you are special, powerful. I must remind you that in the timeline of this galaxy you are younger than a hair on your arm."

He had no response to that. Stewing in silent indignation, Louk pushed himself to his feet. The child pulled its hood back, revealing a handsome face with long white locks that spilled free of a loose bun, draping over its shoulders and running down its back.

"You must wonder why I brought you here."

"Oh, never had a question about that" Louk growled.

The child's laughter grew louder. "You humans burn so hot in your daily lives. So different from the children."

"Children?"

"The children who walked the galaxy when it was yet young. Who ruled it for uncountable rotations, whose decadence brought about the greatest calamity of its era."

"Eldar."

"As you call them."

"You are Eldar?"

The child frowned. It did not seem keen on answering such a foolish question.

"Do you know how you came to that world?"

"Eostia?"

"It was not allowed, what you did. Even amongst the Dark Pantheon, among the Old Ones, it is not allowed. You plane of existence is but one in an infinite chain, an endless sea of live and death and beyond."

"Other… existences. What does that mean" Louk demanded.

"Life as you know it, understand it: humanity, _chaos_ , the Sea of Souls. It is self-contained on a scale you could not fathom. We _are_ alone, and yet we are alone in a great crowd. A speck of sand on the shore. You, reborn in the death of eternity, and _Born in the Death of Eternity_ escaped that speck of sand. Your violent entry into the Sea of Souls disrupted it, caused a great storm that cast you out and into a realm where you should not have gone. Your presence was anomalous."

"That means nothing to me."

"As it should not. I would not expect so young a creature to understand such things." The child collected its stones and cast them again. After spending some time reading them, it laughed again. "The problem, now, is how to bring you back. As long as you are here, neither can return. But we cannot allow you to remain away. There is too much at stake."

"And you have the power to do this?" Louk glanced around. You said I cannot return. But we are in the Warp now, aren't we?"

"I don't play by the rules" the child said, its smile growing sweet and decidedly predatory. "There is a bitter change coming to your galaxy. Gods will rise, worlds will be broken. The cornerstone of your newborn race will be shattered. So many moving parts dancing to our whims. Yours is a piece that must be returned to its proper place."

"My piece?"

"A wonderful thing is coming, Louk Shannegh." The child rose to its feet, gliding upwards with hardly a sign of movement. It gripped his wrist, and its touch burned like fire. "Soon I will no longer be alone. She-Who-Thirsts will be cast down. And the children will be freed of her tyranny."

"She-Wh-"

"You must be brought back, but you cannot leave your work here undone. _Born in the Death of Eternity_ glutted itself on that world. It filled itself with power that does not belong to it. With souls that should never have been taken. If it returns as it is, it will cause great harm. It will be… problematic."

The child's words were tinged with laughter, but there was no mirth in its dull, horrifying eyes. Louk hissed against its boiling touch. It would not let him go.

"You must defeat it here, Louk Shannegh. You must break it. Only then can you return."

"How am I supposed to defeat it? I don't have an army. I don't have the weapons."

"An army. Weapons. Meaningless. You have the power to defeat it. _Reaper_ is the greatest weapon you could possess. I have seen your future, Louk Shannegh. _Reaper_ is the only weapon you will ever need. You will battle gods. You will stand alongside heroes. But you will never be more powerful because of them."

"So I am supposed to fight it by myself?"

"By yourself? No. You are defending a world. Let the world fight with you. Let it fight for you. But do not forget, it is you who can slay _Born in the Death of Eternity_. It is a proud thing, reckless in its hubris. For it has already given you its greatest weakness. The weapon that will destroy it so utterly it will become a ghost of its former self."

"What tool?"

"That would be telling." The child released his arm and danced back a step. Its gaze shifted past him, as if something stood behind him. Louk had the uncomfortable sensation of thousands of eyes staring into his back. "Besides, your audience deserves a better story, don't you think?"

"Audience?" He turned, surveying the darkness. There was nothing there, of course.

"We are all just players on a great stage, Louk Shannegh. We dance and fight and die at the whim of the ones that create us." The child laughed, and drew his attention to the stones. "I will give you this opportunity. To go back and right your wrongs. To avenge the fallen and save the weak. But it will not be easy. Surely you know that."

"You… are sending me back?" His skin crawled at the thought. "To Olga?"

"Yes. And no. One can never truly go back. Not to the same place. A path once trod is forever trampled. No, I will send you back to that world. But it will not be the same one you knew."

"That makes no sense."

"The world you knew was, is, and will be irrecoverably spoiled. But I can send you to the next closest thing. A mirror world, if you will. Fundamentally the same, but with subtle ripples that separate it from the one before."

"And the daemon will still be there?"

"It must be there. _Born in the Death of Eternity_ cannot return to its home. You are travelers left adrift. And it will follow you wherever you go, until you return to where you belong."

"So I go back to Eostia. And fight the same damned war with the same damned people."

"You will be quite surprised by what you find." The child's grin faded slightly. "But more importantly, you will not be alone. I have… favors, I can call in."

"Why are you helping me?" Louk eyed the child, and the stones. "What is in it for you?"

" _Born in the Death of Eternity_ is an exalted being in the eyes of She-Who-Thirsts. Should it return, it will hunt my children without respite, without mercy. You created the monster. You must be the one to defeat it."

He crossed his arms, scrutinizing the child. "I know what you are."

"Do you? How amusing."

"She showed me many things. Most of it I will never understand. But I remember the one that escaped." Louk pointed accusingly. "You are the La-"

The child shushed him with a finger placed over his lips. Its eyes gleamed, reflecting an unsettling edge to its smile that drained the strength from his limbs.

"It isn't nice to use names. Names have power. Do you understand what you must do, Louk Shannegh?"

"Kill the daemon."

"Yes." It nodded sagely. "By whatever means necessary. You must crush it, grind it under your heel. To do this, I will grant you one wish. Name your desire, what you would have by your side. State it, and it will join you in this battle."

"Can I ask for you to blow that bastard up for me?"

"That would be cheating" it giggled.

"Do I have a moment to think about it?"

"You have all the time in the world." It returned to its stones, picked them up and rolled them in its hands. "But I would hurry, if I were you. You are going to wake up soon. And this opportunity will pass you by if you are not careful."

Louk took a deep breath. It spoke again before he could ponder what it meant.

"Ask yourself, Louk Shannegh. What, or who, do you value most in your existence? What precious things do you desire? What haunts your thoughts and dreams, laces your steps with regret? If you could bring them to your side, to assure yourself of their safety." Its eyes glittered, sparkling like pinpricks of light amidst the utter darkness.

He took another breath, his thoughts drawn unerringly to those the child spoke of. It was obvious what he wanted. Who he needed to see. Steadying his breath, slowing his pulse, he considered the possibility, and found it terrifying.

Louk stared down at the child. It had the stones cupped in its hands, ready to cast the stones for a third time as it waited on his answer. He knew the answer he desired. He knew that it wanted him to ask for it.

"I want my daughters."

* * *

 **And... end Act I. That's right. Act. One. Louk is going to NG+ Virtuoso's ass. Look for Act II to resume in early 2020, as I currently need to recover from horrific depression that was writing out this first act. It will be a separate story, btw, so be on the lookout either through Following me or just scanning FFnet every so often.**

 **Thanks so much for sticking through this bad boy! It's been a wild ride, and holding back to hundreds of things I have planned for Act II has been driving me nuts. Y'all are awesome!**

 **Sincerely,  
ApostleOfWrath**


End file.
